(UlTP  i.B.  im  SItbrarg 


QL751 
G87 


1.39654 

This  book  may  be  kept  out  TWO  WEEKS 
ONLY,  and  is  subject  to  a  fine  of  FIVE 
CENTS  a  day  thereafter.  It  is  due  on  the 
day  indicated  below: 


Ua  1 7  19 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS 


BY 

KARL   GROOS 

PROFESSOR    OF    PHILOSOPHY    IN    THE 
UNIVERSITY   OF    BASEL 


TRANSLATED    WITH    THE   AUTHOR  S    CO-OPERATION 

By   ELIZABETH    L.  BALDWIN 

WITH   A   PREFACE  AND   AN   APPENDIX   BY 

J.  MARK   BALDWIN 

PROFESSOR   IN   PRINCETON    UNIVERSITY 


NEW   YORK 
D.  APPLETON   AND   COMPANY 


Copyright.  1898, 
By  D    APPLETON  AND  COMPANY. 


EDITOR'S   PREFACE* 


Ix  this  Yolume  Professor  Groos  makes  a  contribu- 
tion to  three  distinct  but  cognate  departments  of  in- 
quiry :  philosophical  biology,  animal  psycholog}^,  and  the 
genetic  study  of  art.  Those  who  have  followed  the  be- 
ginnings of  inquiry  into  the  nature  and  functions  of 
play  in  the  animal  world  and  in  children  will  see  at 
once  how  much  light  is  to  be  expected  from  a  thor- 
ough-going examination  of  all  the  facts  and  observations 
recorded  in  the  literature  of  animal  life.  This  sort  of 
examination  Professor  Groos  makes  with  great  care  and 
thoroughness,  and  the  result  is  a  book  which,  in  my 
opinion,  is  destined  to  have  wide  influence  in  all  these 
departments  of  inquiry. 

I  wish,  before  speaking  of  certain  conclusions  which 
are  of  especial  interest,  to  make  some  running  comments 
on  the  contents  of  the  book,  without,  of  course,  forestall- 
ing the  reader's  ovm.  discovery  of  its  riches.  Chapter  I 
is  an  examination  of  Mr.  Spencer's  "  surplus-energy '' 
theory  of  play;  the  result  of  which  is,  it  seems,  to  put 
this  theory  permanently  out  of  court.     The  author's 


♦  In  this  preface  certain  passages  are  repeated  from  a  review 
of  the  German  edition  of  Professor  Groos'  book,  printed  in  Sci- 
ence, February  26,  1897.  .  ^  0£?  '"  /I 


iv  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

main  contention  is  that  play,  so  far  from  being  "by- 
play," if  I  may  so  speak,  is  a  matter  of  serious  moment 
to  the  creature.  Play  is  a  veritable  instinct.  This 
view  is  expanded  in  Chapter  II,  where  we  find  a  fine 
treatment  in  detail  of  such  interesting  topics  as  imita- 
tion in  its  relation  to  play,  the  inheritance  of  acquired 
characters  apropos  of  the  rise  of  instincts,  and  the  place 
and  function  of  intelligence  in  the  origin  of  these  pri- 
mary animal  activities.  This  chapter,  dealing  with  the 
biological  theory  of  play,  is  correlated  with  Chapter  V, 
in  which  the  Psychology  of  Animal  Play  is  treated. 
Together  they  furnish  the  philosophical  and  theoretical 
basis  of  the  book,  as  the  chapters  in  between  furnish  the 
detailed  data  of  fact.  I  shall  return  to  the  biological 
matter  below.  Chapters  III  and  IV  go  into  the  actual 
Plays  of  Animals  with  a  wealth  of  detail,  richness  of 
literary  information,  and  soundness  of  critical  interpre- 
tation which  are  most  heartily  to  be  commended.  In- 
deed, the  fact  that  the  first  book  on  this  subject  is  at  the 
same  time  one  of  such  unusual  value,  both  as  science  and 
as  theory,  should  be  a  matter  of  congratulation  to  work- 
ers in  biology  and  in  psychology.  The  collected  cases, 
the  classification  of  animal  plays,  as  well  as  the  setting 
of  interpretation  in  which  Professor  Groos  has  placed 
them — all  are  likely  to  stand,  I  think,  as  a  piece  of 
work  of  excellent  quality  in  a  new  but  most  important 
field  of  inquiry. 

With  this  general  and  inadequate  notice  of  the  divi- 
sions and  scope  of  the  book,  I  may  throw  together  in  a 
few  sentences  the  main  theoretical  positions  to  which  the 
author's  study  brings  him.  He  holds  play  to  be  an  in- 
stinct developed  by  natural  selection  (he  gives  good  rea- 
sons for  not  accepting  the  inheritance  of  acquired  char- 
acters), and  to  be  on  a  level  with  the  other  instincts 


EDITOR'S  PREFACE.  V 

which  are  developed  for  their  utilit3\  It  is  very  near, 
in  its  origin  and  function,  to  the  instinct  of  imitation, 
but  yet  they  are  distinct  (a  word  more  below  on  the  rela- 
tion between  play  and  imitation).  Its  utility  is,  in  the 
main,  twofold :  First,  it  enables  the  young  animal  to  ex- 
ercise himself  beforehand  in  the  strenuous  and  necessary 
functions  of  its  life  and  so  to  be  ready  for  their  onset; 
and,  second,  it  enables  the  animal  by  a  general  instinct  to 
do  many  things  in  a  playful  way,  and  so  to  learn  for  itself 
much  that  would  otherwise  have  to  be  inherited  in  the 
form  of  special  instincts ;  this  puts  a  premium  on  intelli- 
gence, which  thus  comes  to  replace  instinct  (p.  71). 
Either  of  these  utilities.  Professor  Groos  thinks,  would 
insure  and  justify  the  play  instinct;  so  important  are 
they  that  he  suggests  that  the  real  meaning  of  infancy 
is  that  there  may  be  time  for  play  (see  his  preface). 
This  general  conception  of  play  has  been  set  forth  by 
other  writers;  but  Professor  Groos  works  it  out  in  this 
book  in  a  way  which  attaches  his  name  permanently  to  it. 

It  is  especially  in  connection  with  this  latter  func- 
tion of  play,  I  may  add,  that  the  instinct  to  imitate  comes 
in  to  aid  it.  Imitation  is  a  real  instinct,  but  it  is  not 
always  playful;  play  is  a  real  instinct,  but  it  is  not 
always  imitative.  There  is  likely,  however,  to  be  a  great 
deal  of  imitation  in  pla}',  since  the  occasion  on  which  a 
particular  play-function  develops  is  often  that  which  also 
develops  the  imitative  tendency  as  well — i.  e.,  the  actual 
sight  or  hearing  of  the  acts  or  voices  of  other  animals. 
Moreover,  the  acquisition  of  a  muscular  or  vocal  action 
through  imitation  makes  it  possible  to  repeat  the  same 
action  afterwards  in  play. 

It  is  only  a  step,  therefore,  to  find  that  imitation, 
as  an  instinct,  has  to  have  ascribed  to  it,  in  a  measure, 
the  same  race  utility  as  play — that  of  going  before  the 


Vi  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

intelligence  and  preparing  the  way  for  it,  by  rendering 
a  great  number  of  specialized  instincts  unnecessary.  It 
is  interesting  to  the  present  writer  to  contrast  this  view 
with  that  which  he  has  himself  recently  developed  * — 
i.  e.,  the  view  that  imitation  supplements  inadequate 
congenital  variations  in  the  direction  of  an  instinct,  and 
so,  by  keeping  the  creature  alive,  sets  the  trend  of  fur- 
ther variations  in  the  same  direction  until  the  instinct  is 
fully  organized  and  congenital.  If  both  of  these  views  be 
true,  as  there  seems  reason  to  believe,  then  imitation 
holds  a  remarkable  position  in  relation  to  intelligence 
and  instinct.  It  stands  midway  between  them  and  aids 
them  both.  In  some  functions  it  keeps  the  perform- 
ance going,  and  so  allows  of  its  perfection  as  an  in- 
stinct; in  others  it  puts  a  stress  on  intelligence,  and  so 
allows  the  instinct  to  fall  away,  if  it  have  no  independent 
utility  in  addition  to  that  served  by  the  intelligence,  f 
In  other  words,  it  is  through  imitation  that  instincts  both 
arise  and  decay;  that  is,  some  instincts  are  furthered, 
and  some  suppressed,  by  imitation.  And  all  this  is  ac- 
complished with  no  appeal  to  the  inheritance  of  ac- 
quired characters.  Professor  Groos  agreeing  with  Weis- 
mann  that  the  operation  of  natural  selection  as  gen- 
erally recognised  is  probably  sufficient  (see  his  preface). 
For  myself  I  find  most  helpful  the  theory  of  Organic 
Selection  referred  to  by  Professor  Groos  on  pages  64  and 

*  See  Science,  March  20,  1896. 

f  In  a  private  communication  Professor  Groos  sucfgests  to  me 
that  the  two  views  may  well  be  held  to  supplement  each  other. 
The  case  is  very  much  the  same  with  early  intellif,'ence,  in  the 
form  of  Association  of  Ideas:  where  it  fully  accomplishes  the 
utility  also  subserved  by  an  instinct,  it  tends  to  supersede  the 
instinct;  otherwise  it  tends  to  the  development  of  the  instinct 
(Groos,  this  edition,  p.  71,  and  Baldwin,  Science,  April  10,  1896). 


EDITORS  PREFACE.  yii 

65.  Following  up  his  kindly  reference,  I  venture,  with 
his  concurrence,  to  reprint  as  an  Appendix  to  this  trans- 
lation a  short  article  of  my  own  on  Organic  Selection. 

The  difficulty  which  I  see  to  this  conception  of  play 
as  a  pure  instinct  is  that  which  is  sometimes  urged  also 
against  considering  imitation  an  instinct — i.  e.,  that  it 
has  no  definite  motor  co-ordinations,  but  has  all  the  va- 
riety which  the  different  play-forms  show.  If  the  defi- 
nite congenital  plays  are  considered  each  for  itself,  then 
we  have  a  great  many  instincts,  instead  of  a  general  play 
instinct.  But  that  will  not  do,  for  it  is  one  of  Professor 
Groos'  main  contentions,  in  the  chapter  on  The  Psy- 
chology of  Animal  Play,  that  they  have  a  common  gen- 
eral character  which  distinguishes  them  from  other 
specialized  instinctive  actions.  They  are  distinguished 
as  play  actions,  not  simply  as  actions.  This  difficulty 
really  touches  the  kernel  of  the  matter,  and  serves  to 
raise  the  question  of  the  relation  of  imitation  to  play; 
for  imitation  presents  exactly  the  same  conditions — a 
general  tendency  to  imitate,  which  is  not  exhausted  in  the 
particular  actions  which  are  performed  by  the  imitation. 
I  shall  remark  on  the  solution  of  it  below,  in  speaking  of 
Professor  Groos'  psychology  of  play.  It  will  be  inter- 
esting to  see  how  he  treats  this  problem  in  his  promised 
work  on  Die  Spiele  der  Menschen,  for  the  imitative  ele- 
ment is  very  marked  in  children's  plays.  In  view  of 
this  objection  to  the  use  of  the  term  "  instinct "  for 
play — ^^  impulse  "  possibly  being  better — I  venture  to 
suggest  that  the  theory  which  regards  play  as  a  native 
tendency  of  the  animal  to  practise  certain  special  func- 
tions, before  they  are  really  required  of  him,  be  called 
the  "  practice  theory ''  of  play. 

Other  matters  of  interest  in  this  biological  part  are 
the  gi-eat  emphasis  which  Groos  finds  it  necessary  to 


viii  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

put  on  "  tradition,"  instruction,  imitation,  etc.,  in  young 
animals,  even  in  enabling  them  to  come  into  possession 
of  their  natural  instincts;  in  this  the  book  tends  in  the 
same  direction  as  the  later  volume  of  Prof.  C.  Llo3'd 
Morgan.  The  present  writer  has  also,  emphasized  the 
fact  under  the  term  social  heredity.  Again,  there  is  an 
acute  discussion  of  Darwin's  Sexual  Selection,  a  discus- 
sion which  Professor  Groos  sufficiently  explains  in  his 
own  preface.*  I  find  an  anticipation  of  the  position — 
as  it  were,  a  happy  intuition — in  the  Non-Religion  of 
the  Future  of  M.  Guyau  (page  302.  Again,  the  imper- 
fect character  of  most  instincts  is  emphasized,  and  the 
interaction  with  imitation  and  intelligence. 

Finally,  I  should  like  to  suggest  that  a  possible  cate- 
gory of  "  Social  Plays ''  might  be  added  to  Groos'  classi- 
fication; plays  in  w^iich  the  utility  of  the  play  in- 
stinct seems  to  have  reference  to  social  life  as  such.  In 
such  a  category  it  might  be  possible  to  place  certain  of 
the  animals'  performances  which  seem  a  little  strained 
under  the  other  heads;  and  also  those  performances  in 
which  the  social  function  of  commwiication  is  playfully 
exercised.  A  good  deal  might  be  said  also  in  question  of 
the  author's  treatment  of  "  Curiosity  "  (Neugier) .  He 
makes  curiosity  a  matter  of  the  attention,  and  finds 
the  restless  activity  of  the  attention  a  play  function. 
My  criticism  would  be  that  w^hile  curiosity  does  bring 
the  animal  into  possession  of  the  details  of  knowledge 
before  they  are  pressed  in  upon  him  by  harsh  experience, 
yet  attention  does  not  altogether  fulfil  the  requirements 
of  the  author's  psychological  theory  of  play. 

*  "  Sexual "  is  referred  back  to  "  natural  "  selection.  althouc:h 
the  direct  results  of  such  preferential  matine:  would  still  seem  to 
be  a  "  determination  "  of  variations  for  natural  selection  to  work 
upon  {cf.  Science,  November  23,  1896,  p.  726). 


EDITOR'S  PREFACE.  ix 

Turning  now  to  the  interesting  question  of  the  psy- 
chological theory,  we  find  it  developed,  as  it  would  have 
to  be,  in  a  much  more  theoretical  way.  The  play  con- 
sciousness is  fundamentally  a  form  of  "  conscious  self- 
illusion  " — bewusste  Selhsttduschung.  It  is  just  the 
difference  between  play  activity  and  strenuous  activity 
that  the  animal  knows,  in  the  former  case,  that  the  situ- 
ation is  not  real,  and  still  allows  it  to  pass,  submitting  to 
a  pleasant  sense  of  "make-believe."  It  is  only  fair  to 
say,  however,  that  Herr  Groos  admits  that  in  certain 
more  definitely  instinctive  forms  of  play  this  criterion 
does  not  hold;  it  would  be  difficult  to  assume  any  con- 
sciousness of  self-illusion  in  the  fixed  courting  and  pair- 
ing plays  of  birds,  for  example.  The  same  is  seen  in  the 
very  intense  reality  which  a  child's  game  takes  on  some- 
times for  an  hour  at  a  time.  Indeed,  the  author  distin- 
guishes four  stages  in  the  transition  from  instincts  in 
which  the  conscious  illusion  is  absent,  to  the  forms  of 
play  to  which  we  can  apply  the  phrase  "  play  activity  " 
in  its  true  sense — i.  e.,  that  of  Scheinthdtigleeit.  The 
only  way  to  reconcile  these  positions  that  I  see  is  to  hold 
that  there  are  two  different  kinds  of  play :  that  which  is 
not  psychological  at  all — i.  e.,  does  not  show  the  psycho- 
logical criterion  at  all — and  that  which  is  psycho- 
logical as  "'  conscious  self-illusion."  Herr  Groos  does 
distinguish  between  "  objective "  and  "  subjective " 
Scheinthdtigl-eit  (p.  292).  The  biological  criterion  of 
definite  instinctive  character  might  be  invoked  in  the 
former  class,  and  the  psychological  criterion  in  the  other ; 
and  we  would  then  have  a  situation  which  is  exemplified 
in  many  other  functions  of  animal  and  human  life — 
functions  which  are  both  biological  and  instinctive,  and 
also  psychological  and  intelligent,  as,  e.  g.,  sympathy, 
fear,  bashfulness.     Then,  of  course,  the  further  question 


X  THE  PLAY  OP  ANIMALS. 

comes  up  as  to  which  of  these  forms  is  primar}^;  again 
the  old  problem  as  to  whether  intelligence  arose  out  of 
retiexes  or  the  reverse. 

I  think  some  light  falls  on  this  time-honoured  prob- 
lem from  the  statement  of  it  in  connection  with  this 
new  question  of  play ;  especially  when  we  remember  Herr 
Groos"  theory  of  the  function  of  imitation  with  the  ex- 
tension of  his  view  suggested  above.  If  imitation  stands 
midway  between  instinct  and  intelligence,  both  further- 
ing the  growth  of  instinct  in  some  cases,  and  also,  in 
other  cases,  leading  to  its  decay  in  the  presence  of  intel- 
ligence, then  we  might  hold  something  like  this :  In  pro- 
portion as  an  action  loses  its  consciously  imitative  and 
volitional  character,  to  that  degree  it  tends  to  be  in- 
capable of  "  make-believe  *'  exercise,  becoming  real  in 
consciousness  and  instinctive  in  performance  (and  this 
applies  to  the  cases  in  which  imitation  has  itself  become 
habitual  and  instinctive,  as  in  the  mocking-bird)  ;  and 
on  the  contrary,  in  proportion  as  an  instinctive  action 
is  modified  and  adapted  through  imitation  and  intelli- 
gence, to  that  degree  it  becomes  capable  of  assuming 
the  ''  make-believe  "  character  and  is  indulged  in  as  con- 
scious play.  I  can  not  enlarge  upon  this  here,  but  it 
seems  to  square  with  a  good  many  of  the  facts;  both 
with  those  which  Professor  Groos  cites  as  showing  that 
imitation  opens  the  way  for  the  decay  of  instinct  with 
the  growth  of  intelligence,  and  with  those  which  Pro- 
fessor Lloyd  Morgan  and  I  have  cited  as  showing  that 
imitation  keeps  congenital  variations  alive  and  so  allows 
them  to  accumulate  into  instincts.  It  is  also  consistent 
with  the  view  that  imitation  is  a  sort  of  meeting  point 
of  race  habit,  represented  by  instinct,  and  race  accom- 
modation, represented  by  intelligence:  just  the  double 
function  which  imitation  serves  also  in  the  development 


EDITOR'S  PREFACE.  xi 

of  the  individual,  as  I  have  argued  in  detail  in  my  vol- 
ume on  Mental  Development  in  the  Child  and  the  Eace. 

Going  into  the  analysis  of  the  play  psychosis,  Herr 
Groos  finds  several  sources  of  pleasure  to  the  animal  in 
it:  pleasure  of  satisfying  an  instinct,  pleasure  of  move- 
ment and  energetic  action,  but,  most  of  all,  "  pleasure 
in  being  a  cause."  This  last,  together  with  the 
"  pleasure  in  experimenting,"  which  characterizes  many 
play  activities,  is  urged  with  great  insistence,  and 
properly  so.  Even  the  imitative  function  is  said  to 
produce  the  joy  of  "  victory  over  obstacles."  Yet  here 
again  the  author  is  compelled  to  draw  the  distinction 
between  the  play  which  is  psychological  enough  to  have 
a  represented  object,  and  the  instinctive  sort  in  which 
the  pleasure  is  only  that  of  the  instinct's  own  perform- 
ance. The  pleasure  of  overcoming  friction  of  move- 
ment, also,  seems  very  doubtful,  since  in  most  games  we 
stop  playing  when  the  friction  and  inertia  of  the  mus- 
cles come  to  consciousness  as  fatigue.  Much  more,  how- 
ever, is  to  be  said  for  the  pleasure  of  rivalry,  or  of  over- 
coming an  opponent,  in  the  higher  types  of  play;  but 
Herr  Groos  scarcely  does  this  justice. 

The  second  element  in  the  play  or  Schein  con- 
sciousness is  the  feeling  of  freedom  (Freiheitsgefuhl) . 
In  play  there  is  a  sense  of  "  don't-have-to,"  so  to 
speak,  which  is  contrasted  both  with  the  necessity  of 
sense  and  with  the  imperative  of  thought  and  conscience. 
Tliis  idea  seems  to  be  part  of  Schiller's  theory  of  play. 
So  Groos  thinks  the  general  feeling  of  freedom  holds 
in  consciousness  only  while  there  is  a  play  of  motives,  to 
which  the  agent  may  put  an  end  at  any  moment — a 
sense  of  "  don't-have-to  "  in  the  life  of  choice.  This 
sense  of  freedom  keeps  the  "make-believe"  conscious- 
ness pure  and  prevents  our  confusing  the  game  with 


xii  THE   PLAY  OF   ANIMALS. 

the  real  activities  of  life.  This  is  very  interesting  and 
suggestive.  The  sense  of  freedom  is  certainly  promi- 
nent in  play.  Whether  it  should  be  identified  with  the 
sense  of  control  which  has  been  used  by  some  writers  as 
a  criterion  (both  in  a  negative  and  in  a  positive  sense) 
of  the  belief  in  realities  already  experienced,  or  again 
with  the  freedom  with  which  choice  is  pregnant,  is  more 
questionable.  Without  caring  to  make  a  criticism  of 
Professor  Groos'  position,  I  may  yet  point  out  that  in 
our  choices  there  are  those  which  are  free  with  a  "  don't- 
have-to  "  freedom,  and  there  are  choices — and  these  are 
the  momentous  ones,  the  ones  to  which  freedom  that 
men  value  attaches — which  are  strenuous  and  real  in  the 
extreme.  Indeed,  it  seems  paradoxical  to  liken  the  moral 
life,  with  its  sense  of  freedom,  to  a  "  game  of  play,"  and 
to  allow  the  hard-pressed  sailor  on  the  ethical  sea  to 
rest  on  his  oars  behind  a  screen  of  Schein  and  plead,  "  I 
sha'n't  play."  Seriously,  this  is  what  some  other  writer 
might  press  on  to ;  and  it  comes  out  again  in  the  author's 
extremely  interesting  sections  on  art,  of  which  I  may 
say  a  word  in  conclusion. 

Those  who  have  read  Professor  Groos'  former  stimu- 
lating book,  Einleitung  in  die  iEsthetik,  will  anticipate 
the  connection  which  he  finds  between  play  and  art. 
The  art  consciousness  is  a  consciousness  of  an  "  inner 
imitation,"  which  is  in  so  far  "  make-believe  "  as  con- 
trasted with  reality.  The  "  self-conscious  illusion  "  of 
the  play  consciousness  is  felt  in  extreme  form  in  the 
theatre,  and  it  is  found  to  be  pleasurable  even  when  we 
play  with  painful  situations,  as  in  tragedy.  In  art  the 
desire  to  make  an  impression  on  others  shows  the  "  pleas- 
ure of  being  cause."  This  intent  to  work  on  others 
is  a  necessary  ingredient  in  the  art  impulse.  Groos 
differs  from  K.  Lange,  who  holds  a  similar  view  of  the 


EDITOR'S  PREFACE.  xiii 

necessary  division  of  consciousness  between  reality  and 
'^  make-believe  ^'  in  the  aesthetic,  in  that  Lange  thinks 
there  must  be  a  continual  oscillation  between  the  two  poles 
of  the  divided  consciousness,  while  Groos  thinks  there 
is  rather  a  settling  down  in  the  state  of  illusion,  as  in 
an  artist's  preoccupation  with  his  creations,  a  novelist 
with  his  characters,  and  a  child  with  her  doll.  In 
art  the  other  great  motive  of  play,  "  experimenting,''  is 
also  prominent,  and  is  even  more  fundamental  from  a 
genetic  point  of  view. 

Here  again  the  question  left  in  my  mind  is  this: 
whether  the  '^  make-believe  "  motive  is  really  the  same  as 
the  art  motive.  Do  we  not  distinguish  between  the 
drama  (to  take  the  case  most  favourable  to  the  theory)  as 
amusement  and  the  drama  as  art?  And  does  the  drama- 
tist who  is  really  an  artist  write  to  bring  on  a  conscious- 
ness of  self-illusion  in  the  spectator  by  presenting  to  him 
a  "  make-believe  "  scene  ?  Does  he  not  rather  aim  to  pro- 
duce an  "  inner  imitation  "  in  him  which  shall  arouse 
the  emotional  and  volitional  attitudes  of  full  reality? 
There  does  seem  to  be,  in  a  work  of  fine  art,  a  strenuous 
outreach  not  only  toward  the  imitation  of  truth,  but 
toward  the  actual  conviction  of  truth.  It  may  be  that 
we  should  distinguish  with  Aristotle  between  truth 
which  comes  to  us  didactically  and  truth  which  comes 
artistically,  and  find  in  the  method  of  the  latter,  and  in 
that  alone,  the  source  of  aesthetic  impression;  but  even 
then  we  should  not  have  to  feel  the  aesthetic  creation 
to  be  "  make-believe."  In  any  case  the  theory  of  Pro- 
fessor Groos,  which  has  its  roots  in  the  views  of  Lange 
and  Von  Hartmann,  is  extremely  interesting  and 
valuable,  especially  as  contrasted  with  the  recent  psy- 
chological theory  of  Mr.  H.  E.  Marshall.  As  to  Pro- 
fessor Groos'  theory,  musical  art  would  present  diffi- 


xiv  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

culties,  and  so  would  lower  sensuous  aesthetic  effects  gen- 
erally. 

Genetically  art  rests  upon  play,  according  to  Herr 
Groos,  in  that  the  three  great  motives  of  art  production, 
^' Seli-exhihiiion''  {Selbstdarstelluiig) ,  "Imitation/'  and 
"Decoration"  (Ausschmuckung) ,  are  found  in  the 
three  great  classes  of  animal  plays,  respectively,  "  Court- 
ing," "Imitation,"  and  "Building  Art"  {Bauhilnste, 
seen  in  birds'  nest-building,  etc.).  On  the  strength  of 
this.  Professor  Groos  finds  both  aesthetic  appreciation 
and  impulse  in  the  animals,  and  all  rests  upon  the  origi- 
nal "  experimenting  "  impulse  of  play.  Of  this,  how- 
ever, Professor  Groos  does  not  give  a  satisfactory  account, 
I  think.  Experimenting  seems  to  be  a  necessary  part  of 
effective  learning  by  "  imitation,"  and  the  use  made  of  it 
in  the  selection  of  movements  may  be  its  original  use.  I 
have  suggested  elsewhere  ( Social  and  Ethical  Interpreta- 
tions, sections  98  to  102)  some  reasons  for  thinking  also 
that  decorative  art  may  have  sprung  from  the  "  self-ex- 
hibiting "  impulse,  thus  reducing  the  aesthetic  motives  to 
two. 

On  the  whole.  Professor  Groos'  book  is  both  a 
pioneer  work  and  one  of  great  permanent  value.  In 
venturing  to  criticise  it  I  have  thought  it  best  to  raise 
points  of  discussion — even  though  to  a  thinker  like  Pro- 
fessor Groos  they  may  be  trivial  and  easily  answered — 
as  fitted  to  give  to  the  lay  reader  a  sense  of  the  larger 
issues  for  the  sake  of  which,  after  all,  the  delightful 
stories  of  animal  life  in  the  book  have  been  collected  by 
the  author. 

J.  Maek  Baldwix. 
Princeton,  April,  1898, 


EDITOR'S  PREFACE.  XV 

The  translator  wishes  it  to  be  said  that  all  the  altera- 
tions made  for  this  edition  have  been  either  requested  or 
approved  by  the  author,  only  some  few  footnotes  of  a 
bibliographical  sort  having  been  added  after  Professor 
Groos  saw  the  proofs.  The  additions  made  by  the  trans- 
lator in  the  notes  are  put  in  brackets,  both  those  which 
Professor  Groos  has  seen  and  also  the  very  few  others 
which  were  subsequently  added.  The  reader  will  also 
notice  from  the  title-page  that  the  author  has  now  been 
called  from  his  former  position  at  Giessen  to  the  chair  in 
Philosophy  in  the  University  of  Basel. 

J.  M.  B. 


AUTHOR'S  PEEFACE. 


Animal  psychology  is  regarded  by  many  some^vliat 
contemptuously  as  a  sort  of  amusement,  from  which 
nothing  worth  speaking  of  can  be  expected  for  the  ad- 
vancement of  our  modern  science  of  the  mind.  I  do  not 
believe  this.  In  the  first  place,  it  is  quite  wrong  to  judge 
animal  psychology  mainly  from  its  value  for  the  inter- 
pretation of  the  mind  of  man,  making  secondary  the 
independent  interest  to  which  it  lays  claim.  Yet,  apart 
from  this,  such  a  study  is  valuable  to  the  anthropologist 
in  many  ways,  though  it  must  be  admitted  that  but  little 
has  as  yet  been  accomplished  in  this  direction.  Unfor- 
tunately, many  of  the  works  hitherto  published  on  the 
subject  of  animal  psychology  labour  under  the  disadvan- 
tage of  being  strongly  biased,  and  suffer  also  from  a 
lack  of  method.  Their  authors,  justly  indignant  at  the 
arrogance  of  man  in  despising  the  animals  and  claiming 
for  themselves  all  the  higher  and  more  refined  attri- 
butes, naturally  wish  to  prove  that  animals,  too,  possess 
a  high  degree  cf  intelligence  and  feeling;  they  accord- 
ingly emphasize  the  resemblance  of  animals  to  man,  and 
their  work  becomes  an  interesting  collection  of  anecdotes 
of  specially  gifted  individual  animals — collections,  no 
doubt,  possessing  much  intrinsic  worth  but  of  little  value 
2  xvii 


xviii  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

to  the  psychologist.  If  the  observation  of  animals  is  to  bo 
rendered  fruitful  for  the  unsolved  problems  of  anthro- 
pology, an  untried  way  must  be  entered  upon;  attention 
must  be  directed  less  to  particular  resemblances  to  man, 
and  more  to  specific  animal  characteristics.  Hereby  a 
means  may  be  found  for  the  better  understanding  of  the 
animal  part  in  man  than  can  be  attained  through  the 
discussion  of  human  examples  alone.  Man's  animal  na- 
ture reveals  itself  in  instinctive  acts,  and  the  latest  in- 
vestigators tell  us  that  man  has  at  least  as  many  in- 
stincts as  the  brutes  have,  though  most  of  them  have 
become  unrecognisable  through  the  influence  of  edu- 
cation and  tradition.  Therefore  an  accurate  knowledge 
of  the  animal  world,  where  pure  instinct  is  displayed, 
is  indispensable  in  weighing  the  importance  of  inherited 
impulses  in  men. 

The  number  of  investigators  who  have  adopted  this 
method  is  not  great,  and  I  venture  to  hope  that  this 
book  may  be  in  some  degree  influential  in  increasing 
it,  as  well  as  respect  for  animal  psychology  as  a  science. 

The  world  of  play,  to  which  art  belongs,  stands  in 
most  important  and  interesting  contrast  with  the  stern 
realities  of  life;  yet  there  are  few  scientific  works  in 
the  field  of  human  play,  and  none  at  all  in  that  of  ani- 
mal play — a  fact  to  be  accounted  for,  probably,  by  the 
inherent  difficulties  of  the  subject,  both  objective  and 
subjective.  The  animal  psychologist  must  harbour  in 
his  breast  not  only  two  souls,  but  more;  he  must  unite 
with  a  thorough  training  in  physiology,  psychology,  and 
biology  the  experience  of  a  traveller,  the  practical 
knowledge  of  the  director  of  a  zoological  garden,  and 
the  outdoor  lore  of  a  forester.  And  even  then  he 
could  not  round  up  his  labours  satisfactorily  unless  he 
were  familiar  with  the  trend  of  modern  a3sthetics.     In- 


AUTHOR'S  PREFACE.  xix 

deed,  I  consider  this  last  point  so  important  that  I 
venture  to  affirm  that  none  but  a  student  of  aesthetics 
is  capable  of  writing  the  psychology  of  animals.  If  in 
this  statement  I  seem  to  put  myself  forward  as  a  stu- 
dent of  aesthetics,  I  can  only  say  that  I  hope  for  indul- 
gence, in  view  of  the  many  shortcomings  which  are 
apparent  in  this  effort,  on  the  ground  that  a  versatility 
so  comprehensive  is  unattainable  by  an  ordinary  mortal. 

The  first  two  chapters  seek  to  establish  the  concep- 
tion of  play  on  a  basis  of  natural  science.  There  are 
two  quite  different  popular  ideas  of  play.  The  first  is 
that  the  animal  (or  man)  begins  to  play  when  he  feels 
particularly  cheerful,  healthy,  and  strong;  the  second — 
which  I  found  even  entertained  by  a  forester — that  the 
play  of  young  animals  serves  to  fit  them  for  the  tasks 
of  later  life.  The  former  view  tends  to  a  physiological, 
the  latter  to  a  biological,  conception  of  play.  The  first 
finds  its  scientific  basis  in  the  theory  of  surplus  energy, 
which  is  amplified  by  Herbert  Spencer  especially,  but 
which  was  previously  promulgated  by  Schiller,  as  I 
have  attempted  to  show  in  the  beginning  of  the  book. 
This  explanation  of  play  is  certainly  of  great  value, 
but  is  not  fully  adequate,  and  I  have  reached  the  con- 
clusion that  a  state  of  surplus  energy  may  not  always 
be  even  a  conditio  sine  qua  non  of  play. 

The  physiological  conditions  which  cause  a  young 
beast  of  prey  to  follow  a  rolling  ball  need  not,  appar- 
ently, be  different  from  those  of  the  grown  animal  in 
pursuit  of  its  natural  prey.  The  other  view,  by  keep- 
ing before  the  eyes  the  biological  significance  of  play, 
seems  to  me  to  open  the  way  to  a  more  thorough  un- 
derstanding of  the  problem. 

This  reference  to  biology  brings  me  at  once  to  the 
difficult  question  of  instinct.     After  a  long  historical 


XX 


THE  PLAY   OF  ANIMALS. 


and  critical  investigation  of  the  subject;,  I  intrench 
myself  in  the  principles  defined  by  H.  E.  Ziegler,  who, 
as  a  disciple  of  Weismann,  refers  all  instincts  directly  to 
natural  selection.  Accordingly,  I  have  not  used  the  La- 
niarckian  principle  of  the  transmission  of  acquired  char- 
acters, which,  to  say  the  least,  is  doubtful,  in  the  inter- 
pretation of  fact.  On  this  definition  of  instinct  as  a  basis 
a  new  biological  theory  of  play  is  developed,  of  which  the 
following  are  the  main  points :  The  real  problem  lies  in 
the  play  of  the  young;  that  once  successfully  explained, 
adult  play  will  offer  no  special  difficulties.  The  play  of 
youth  depends  on  the  fact  that  certain  instincts,  espe- 
cially useful  in  preserving  the  species,  appear  before  the 
animal  seriously  needs  them.  They  are,  in  contrast  with 
later  serious  exercise  (Ausilhung) ,  a  'preparation  (Vor- 
iibung)  and  practice  (Eifiiliung)  for  the  special  instincts. 
This  anticipatory  appearance  is  of  the  utmost  impor- 
tance, and  refers  us  at  once  to  the  operation  of  natural 
selection;  for,  when  the  inherited  instinct  may  be  sup- 
plemented by  individual  experience,  it  need  not  be  so 
carefully  elaborated  by  selection,  which  accordingly  fa- 
vours the  evolution  of  individual  intelligence  as  a  substi- 
tute for  blind  instinct.  At  the  moment  when  the  intelli- 
gence reaches  a  point  of  development  where  it  is  more 
useful  than  the  most  perfect  instinct,  natural  selection 
will  favour  individuals  in  whom  instinct  appears 
only  in  an  imperfect  form,  manifesting  itself  in  early 
youth  in  activity  purely  for  exercise  and  practice — that 
is  to  say,  in  animals  ivhich  play.  Indeed,  the  conclusion 
seems  admissible,  in  summing  up  the  biological  signifi- 
cance of  play,  that  perhaps  the  very  existence  of  youth  is 
due  in  part  to  the  necessity  for  play;  the  animal  does 
not  play  because  he  is  young,  he  has  a  period  of  youth 
because  he  must  play.     Whoever  has  observed  the  tre- 


AUTHOR'S  PREFACE.  xxi 

mendoiis  force  of  the  play  impulse  in  young  animals  will 
hardly  fail  to  give  this  thought  some  hospitality. 

Though  calling  in  the  principle  of  natural  selection 
exclusively,  on  the  lines  of  Weismann's  theory,  in  ex- 
plaining these  phenomena,  I  am  by  no  means  convinced 
of  the  all-sufficiency  of  this  law,  but  freely  admit  the 
possibility  that  still  other  and  perhaps  unknown  forces 
contribute  their  influence  in  this  process  of  evolu- 
tion. The  conception  of  evolution  itself  is  gaining 
strength  and  assurance  with  the  progress  of  time,  but 
with  respect  to  specific  Darwinism  a  note  of  fin-de-siede 
lightness  is  audible  to  the  attentive  ear.  I  do  not  know 
whether  the  following  idea  has  occurred  to  any  one  else, 
but  to  me  it  is  somewhat  baffling.  It  is  quite  conceivable 
that  a  man  might  arise  and  say :  "  Three  of  the  most  dis- 
tinguished investigators  in  the  subject  of  descent  are 
Wallace,  Weismann,  and  Galton.  Now,  I  agree  with 
Wallace  in  discarding  sexual  selection;  I  hold  with 
Weismann  that  the  inheritance  of  acquired  characters 
is  impossible;  and  I  combat  with  Galton  the  idea 
that  natural  selection  is  sufficient  to  explain  the  change 
from  an  established  species  to  a  new  one."  What,  then, 
is  left  of  the  Darwinian  theory  of  organic  evolution? 

In  the  third  and  fourth  chapters  a  system  of  animal 
play  is  developed  for  the  first  time  on  the  biological  the- 
ory as  a  basis.  The  variety  and  scope  of  such  play  has 
been  up  to  this  time  very  much  underrated,  as,  I  believe, 
this  classification  and  grouping  under  important  heads 
will  show.  The  discussion  of  curiosity  developed  a 
theory  of  attention  which  was  simultaneously  pub- 
lished as  a  short  article,  Ueber  unbewusste  Zeitschat- 
zung,  in  Zeitschrift  fiir  Psychologic  u.  Physiologic  der 
Sinnesorgane.  In  the  introduction  to  the  chapter  de- 
voted to  love  plays  I  have  attempted  an  essential  modi- 


xxii  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

fication  of  the  doctrine  of  sexual  selection,  making  it  a 
special  case  of  natural  selection.  While  agreeing  Avith 
Wallace  that  the  unusual  colours  and  forms,  as  well  as 
complicated  calls,  are  to  be  considered  as  largely  a 
means  of  defence  and  offence  and  of  recognition  among 
animals,  I  yet  believe  that  in  their  higher  manifestations 
such  phenomena  often  have  a  very  close  connection 
with  sexual  life.  This  is  more  obviously  the  case  with 
the  display  of  ornamentation,  of  skill  in  flying,  dan- 
cing, and  swimming,  and  in  bird-song.  The  disciple  of 
Weismann  who  can  not  accept  Spencer's  explanation  of 
such  phenomena  must  either  cleave  to  Darwin's  sexual 
selection,  as  Weismann  himself  does,  or  seek  a  new 
principle.  Such  a  principle  I  believe  I  have  found.  It 
depends  on  two  closely  related  facts.  As  sexual  impulse 
must  have  tremendous  power,  it  is  for  the  interest  of  the 
preservation  of  the  species  that  its  discharge  should  be 
rendered  difiicult.  This  result  is  partly  acomplished  in 
the  animal  world  by  the  necessity  for  great  and  often 
long-continued  excitement  as  a  prelude  to  the  act  of 
pairing.  This  thought  at  once  throws  light  on  the 
peculiar  hereditary  arts  of  courtship,  especially  on  the 
indulgence  in  flying,  dancing,  or  singing  by  a  whole 
flock  at  once.  But  the  hindrance  to  the  sexual  func- 
tion that  is  most  efficacious,  though  hitherto  unappre- 
ciated, is  the  instinctive  coyness  of  the  female.  This 
it  is  that  necessitates  all  the  arts  of  courtship,  and 
the  probability  is  that  seldom  or  never  does  the  fe- 
male exert  any  choice.  She  is  not  awarder  of  the  prize, 
but  rather  a  hunted  creature.  So,  just  as  the  beast 
of  prey  has  special  instincts  for  finding  his  prey, 
the  ardent  male  must  have  special  instincts  for  sub- 
duing feminine  reluctance;  and  just  as  in  the  beast 
of  prey  the  instinct  of  ravenous  pursuit  is  refined  into 


AUTHOR'S  PREFACE.  xxiii 

the  various  arts  of  the  chase,  so  from  such  crude  efforts 
at  wooing,  tliat  courtship  has  finally  developed,  in  which 
sexual  passion  is  psychologically  sublimated  into  love. 
According  to  this  theory,  there  is  choice  only  in  the  sense 
that  the  hare  finally  succumbs  to  the  best  hound,  which 
is  as  much  as  to  say  that  the  phenomena  of  courtship 
are  referred  at  once  to  natural  selection.  It  follows,  too, 
that  however  useful  attractive  form  and  colouring  may 
be  in  relation  to  other  ends,  they  certainly  contribute  to 
that  of  subduing  feminine  coyness,  and  hence  further 
the  sexual  life. 

The  last  chapter  treats  of  the  psychological  aspects 
of  play.  Setting  out  from  the  physiological  side,  I 
lead  up  to  the  central  idea  of  the  w^hole  conception, 
namely,  "joy  in  being  a  cause";  which  seems  to  me  to 
be  the  psychic  accompaniment  of  the  most  elementary 
of  all  plays,  namely,  experimentation.  From  here  as 
a  starting  point  it  permeates  every  kind  of  play,  and 
has  even  in  artistic  production  and  aesthetic  enjoyment  a 
significance  not  sufficiently  appreciated. 

But  the  principal  content  of  the  closing  chapter  is 
the  investigation  of  the  more  subtle  psychic  phenome- 
non that  is  connected  with  the  subject,  namely,  "  make- 
believe,"  or  '^conscious  self-illusion."  The  remarks 
on  divided  consciousness  and  the  feeling  of  freedom 
during  make-believe  activity  prove  that  the  attempt  to 
penetrate  into  the  modern  aesthetic  problem  is  a  serious 
undertaking.  They  point  to  a  field  beyond  the  limits 
of  the  subject  of  this  treatise,  which  I  hope  to  discuss 
exhaustively  in  my  next  work,  having  human  play  for  its 
subject. 

Kakl  Groos. 

GiESSEN,  October,  1S95. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

Editor's  preface 


Author's  preface  . 

I. — The  surplus  theory  of  play 
II. — Play  and  instinct  . 
III.— The  play  of  animals 
Experimentation  . 
Movement  plays    . 
Hunting  plays 

a.  With  real  living  prey 

h.  With  living  mock  prey 

c.  With  lifeless  mock  prey 
Fighting  plays 

a.  Teasing 

h.  Tussling  among  young  animals 

c.  Playful  fighting  between  adult  animal: 
Constructive  arts  . 
Nursing  plays 
Imitative  play 
Curiosity 


PAGE 

iii 

xvii 

1 

25 

83 

85 

09 

120 

120 

123 

130 

135 

130 

139 

145 

152 

167 

178 

214 


xxvi  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

IV. — The  play  of  animals  {continued).    Love  plays         .  229 

Love  plays  among  young  animals        ....  253 

Courtship  by  means  of  the  arts  of  movement     .        .  257 
Courtship   by  means  of  the  display   of  unusual  or 

beautiful  forms  or  colors 265 

Courtship  by  means  of  noises  and  tones      .        .        .  271 

Coquetry  in  the  female 283 

V. — The  psychology  of  animal  play         ....  287 

Editor's  appendix  on  organic  selection    .        .        .  329 

Index 333 


THE   PLAY   OF   ANIMALS. 


CHAPTEE  I. 

THE  SURPLUS  EXEKGY  THEORY  OF  PLAY. 

The  most  influential  tlicor}-  of  play  explains  it  by 
means  of  the  surplus  energy  principle.  In  what  follows 
I  shall  attempt  to  demonstrate  that  this  theory  has  not 
the  scope  usually  attributed  to  it.  It  owes  its  develop- 
ment and  extension  principally  to  Herbert  Spencer,  but 
it  is  based  on  a  principle  of  Schiller's,  in  whose  philoso- 
phy, however,  it  holds  but  a  subordinate  jolace.  It  is 
necessary  here  in  the  beginning  of  the  inquiry,  to  set 
Schiller's  priority  in  the  right  light,  as  it  does  not  seem 
to  be  generally  known.  Schiller's  treatment  of  play 
and  the  play  instinct  is  to  be  found  in  his  excellent  let- 
ters On  the  Esthetic  Education  of  Mankind.  Later  I 
shall  enter  more  fully  into  their  contents,  confining 
myself  here  to  the  passage  on  which  the  theory  of  sur- 
plus energy  is  especially  based.  It  is  in  the  twenty- 
seventh  letter,  and  reads  as  follows:  "  Nature  has  indeed 
granted,  even  to  the  creature  devoid  of  reason,  more 
than  the  mere  necessities  of  existence,  and  into  the 
darkness  of  animal  life  has  allowed  a  gleam  of  freedom 
to  penetrate  here  and  there.  When  hunger  no  longer 
torments  the  lion,  and  no  beast  of  prey  appears  for  him 
to  fight,  then  his  unemployed  powers  find  another  out- 
let. He  fills  the  wilderness  with  his  wild  roars,  and  his 
1 

D.  H.  HILL  LIBRARY 
North  Carolina  State  CoHega 


2  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

exuberant  strength  spends  itself  in  aimless  activity.  In 
the  mere  joy  of  existence,  insects  swarm  in  the  sunshine, 
and  it  is  certainly  not  always  the  cry  of  want  that  we 
hear  in  the  melodious  rhythm  of  bird-songs.  There  is 
evidently  freedom  in  these  manifestations,  but  not  free- 
dom from  all  necessity,  only  from  a  definite  external 
necessity.  The  animal  works  when  some  want  is  the 
motive  for  his  activity,  and  plays  when  a  superabun- 
dance of  energy  forms  this  motive — when  overflowing 
life  itself  urges  him  to  action.''  *  I  will  not  assert  that 
in  his  choice  of  examples  from  animal  life  Schiller  has 
here  set  forth  particularly  clear  or  imchallengeable 
cases,  but  that  what  he  had  to  say  about  them  is  ex- 
pressed with  perfect  clearness — namely,  that  the  ani- 
mal is  impelled  to  serious  work  by  an  external  want, 
but  to  play  by  his  own  superfluity  of  energy.  Through 
the  one  he  restores  his  depleted  powers;  by  means  of 
the  other  he  gives  vent  to  superfluous  ones. 

Jean  Paul  and  J.  E.  Beneke  express  themselves  much 
as  Schiller  does  with  reference  to  human  play.  "  Play," 
says  Jean  Paul  in  Levana  (§.49),  "is  at  first  the  ex- 
pression of  both  mental  and  physical  exuberance.  Later, 
when  school  discipline  has  subjected  all  the  passions  to 
rule,  the  limbs  alone  give  expression  to  the  overflowing 
life  by  running,  leaping,  and  exercising  generally."  And 
Beneke  says,  "  The  child  directs  his  superfluous  energy 
chiefly  to  play,"  f  and  traces  this  tendency  back  to  "  con- 
servation of  original  powers."  X 

*  See  also  Schiller's  poem,  Der  spielende  Knabe,  first  published 
in  1800  in  the  first  volume  of  poems:  "  Yet  exuberant  strength 
makes  its  own  fancied  bounds." 

■}•  Erziehungs-  und  Unterrichtslehre,  Berlin,  1885,  i,  181. 

X  Lehrbuch  der  Psychologie  als  Naturvvissenschaft,  Berlin, 
1833,  p.  24. 


THE  SURPLUS  ENERGY  THEORY  OF  PLAY.   3 

Spencer  gives  a  short  account  of  his  theory  in  the 
last  chapter  of  the  Principles  of  Psychology,  which 
treats  of  the  aesthetic  feelings.  "  Many  years  ago,"  says 
he  (§  533),  "  I  met  with  a  quotation  from  a  German 
author  to  the  effect  that  the  aesthetic  sentiments  origi- 
nate from  the  play  impulse.  I  do  not  remember  the 
name  of  the  author,  and  if  any  reasons  were  given  for 
this  statement,  or  any  inferences  drawn  from  it,  I  can 
not  recall  them.  But  the  statement  itself  has  remained 
with  me,  as  being  one  which,  if  not  literally  true,  is  yet 
the  adumbration  of  a  truth."  It  is  now  well  known  to 
many  readers  of  Spencer  from  what  German  work  was 
derived  this  citation  which  made  such  a  lasting  impres- 
sion on  him.  Many  have  publicly  expressed  themselves 
on  the  subject,  as  Sully,  Grant  Allen,*  and  myself  in 
my  Einleitung  in  die  ^sthetik.f  The  doctrine  of  the 
origination  of  the  esthetic  feelings  from  play  impulses 
is  the  cardinal  point  of  Schiller's  theory  of  the  beautiful 
as  it  is  revealed  to  us  in  these  letters  on  aesthetic  educa- 
tion. Schiller  himself,  not  to  speak  of  Kant,  may  have 
been  influenced  by  Home,  and  so  the  idea  merely  found 
its  way  back  to  England  when  he  in  turn  influenced 
Spencer.  So  far  this  indebtedness  of  Spencer  to  Schiller 
is  pretty  generally  recognised  in  professional  circles. 
But  it  is  quite  otherwise  with  the  passage  just  quoted; 
it  occurs  in  a  part  of  the  ^Esthetics  letters,  compara- 
tively unfamiliar,  and  therefore  seemingly  overlooked 
by  most  readers.  "  The  theory  "  (of  play  impulse),  says 
Wallaschek,  "  remained  unheeded,  though  committed  to 
writing  nearly  a  century  ago.     Put,  in  our  times,  into 


*  Soe  R.  Wallaschek,  On  the  Origin  of  Music,  Mind,  vol.  xvi 
(1891).  p.  ?.T6. 
t  P.  176. 


4  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

scientific  form  by  Mr.  Herbert  Spencer,  it  has  nothing 
in  common  with  its  earlier  presentment  beyond  the 
name,  the  grounds  being  qnite  different."  Had  the 
above-cited  passage  from  Schiller's  letters  been  known 
to  Wallaschek,  he  could  never  have  written  this  state- 
ment, for  it  sets  forth  in  plain  words  the  very  "grounds" 
on  which  Mr.  Spencer  founded  his  theory — namely,  the 
doctrine  of  superfluous  energy  as  the  cause  of  play. 
Moreover,  Schiller  is  the  forerunner  of  Spencer,  not  only 
in  that  he  derives  the  aesthetic  feelings  from  play  im- 
pulses, but  also  in  teaching  that  play  impulse  itself  has 
its  origin  in  superfluous  energy.  How  far-reaching  this 
correspondence  is  will  be  seen  if  I  now  let  Spencer  speak: 
"  Inferior  kinds  of  animals  have  in  common  the  trait 
that  all  their  forces  are  expended  in  fulfilling  functions 
essential  to  the  maintenance  of  life.  They  are  unceas- 
ingly occupied  in  searching  for  food,  in  escaping  from 
enemies,  in  forming  places  of  shelter,  and  in  making 
preparation  for  progeny.  But  as  we  ascend  to  animals 
of  high  types,  having  faculties  more  efficient  and  more 
numerous,  we  begin  to  find  that  time  and  strength  are 
not  wholly  absorbed  in  providing  for  immediate  needs. 
Better  nutrition,  gained  by  superiority,  occasionally 
yields  a  surplus  of  vigour.  The  appetites  being  satis- 
fied, there  is  no  craving  which  directs  the  overflowing 
energies  to  the  pursuit  of  more  prey  or  to  the  satisfac- 
tion of  some  pressing  want.  The  greater  variety  of 
faculty  commonly  joined  with  this  greater  efficiency  of 
faculty  has  a  kindred  result.  When  there  have  been 
developed  many  powers  adjusted  to  many  requirements, 
they  can  not  all  act  at  once;  now  the  circumstances  call 
these  into  exercise  and  now  those,  and  some  of  them 
occasionally  remain  unexercised  for  considerable  periods. 
Thus  it  happens  that  in  the  more  evolved  creatures  there 


THE  SURPLUS  ENERGY  THEORY  OF  PLAY.   5 

often  occurs  an  energy  somewhat  in  excess  of  immediate 
needs,  and  there  comes  also  such  rest,  now  of  this  faculty 
and  now  of  that,  as  permits  the  bringing  of  it  up  to  a 
state  of  high  efficiency  by  the  repair  which  follows 
waste."  If  we  add  to  this  the  fact  that  such  overflow 
of  energy  is  explained  by  Spencer  physiologically  as  a 
reintegration  which  more  than  balances  the  using  up 
of  brain  cells,  thus  producing  in  the  cells  an  "  excessive 
readiness  to  decompose  and  discharge,"  we  have  become 
gfiquainted  with  the  foundation  of  Spencer's  theory  of 
play.  It  is  perfectly  evident  that  it  has  more  in  com- 
mon with  Schiller's  theory  than  the  mere  name;  that, 
indeed,  in  its  "  grounds "  it  fully  coincides  with  the 
passage  cited  from  the  Esthetics  letters.*  In  one  point 
only  does  Spencer  go  beyond  Schiller's  conception:  he 
connects  the  idea  of  imitation  with  that  of  the  overflow 
of  energy.  And  it  is  exactly  at  this  point  that  Spencer 
seems  to  me  to  have  erred.  I  will  return  to  his  own 
text  and  endeavour  to  show  that  he  can  not  substantiate 
his  data.  After  he  has  given  the  foregoing  physiologi- 
cal explanation  of  surplus  energy,  he  goes  on:  "  Every 
one  of  these  mental  powers  then  being  subject  to  this 
law,  that  its  organ,  when  dormant  for  an  interval 
longer  than  ordinary,  becomes  unusually  ready  to  act, 
unusually  ready  to  have  its  correlative  feelings  aroused, 
giving  an  unusual  readiness  to  enter  upon  all  the  cor- 
relative activities;  it  happens  that  a  simulation  of  these 
activities  is  easil}^  fallen  into,  where  circumstances 
offer,  in  place  of  the  real  activities.  Hence  play  of  all 
kinds."     "  It   is,"   says   E.   Wallaschek,   in '  agreement 

*  It  is  of  course  possil^le  that  Spencer  may,  notwitlistanding 
this  coincidence,  have  arrived  at  the  idea  of  surplus  energy  inde- 
pendently of  Schiller. 


6  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

with  Spencer,  "the  siirphis  vigour  in  more  highly  de- 
veloped organisms,  exceeding  what  is  required  for  im- 
mediate needs,  in  which  play  of  all  kinds  takes  its  rise, 
manifesting  itself  by  way  of  imitation  or  repetition  of 
all  those  efforts  and  exertions  which  are  essential  to 
the  maintenance  of  life/'  * 

In  review  I  may  here  enumerate  the  essential  points 
so  far  made: 

1.  The  higher  animals  being  able  to  provide  them- 
selves with  better  nourishment  than  the  lower,  thei* 
time  and  strength  are  no  longer  exclusively  occupied 
in  their  own  maintenance,  hence  they  acquire  a  super- 
abundance of  vigour. 

2.  The  overflow  of  energy  will  be  favoured  in  those 
cases  where  the  higher  animals  have  need  for  more  di- 
versified activities,  for  while  they  are  occupied  with 
one,  the  other  special  powers  can  find  rest  and  reinte- 
gration. 

3.  When,  in  this  manner,  the  overflow  of  energy 
has  reached  a  certain  pitch,  it  tends  to  discharge. 

4.  If  there  is  no  occasion  at  the  moment  for  the 
correlative  activity  to  be  seriously  exercised,  simp]}^  imi- 
tative activity  is  substituted,  and  this  is  play. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  conception  of  play 
thus  set  forth  is  very  plausible,  but  its  inadequacy  can 
easily  be  demonstrated.  Should  play  indeed  be  univer- 
sally considered  as  the  imitation  l1  ecrious  activities, 
for  which  there  may  be  inclination  but  no  opportunity? 
There  is,  of  course,  no  doubt  that  imitation  is  of  the 
greatest  importance  in  much  play,  and  I  shall  often 
have  occasion  to  refer  in  the  sequel  to  the  imitative  im- 
pulses.    Nevertheless  it  is  true  that  the  conception  of 

*  On  the  Origin  of  Music,  Mind,  xvi  (1891),  p.  376. 


THE  SURPLUS  ENERGY  THEORY  OF  PLAY.   7 

imitation  here  set  forth— namely,  as  the  repetition  of 
serious  activities  to  which  the  individual  has  himself 
become  accustomed — can  not  be  applied  directly  to  the 
primary  phenomena  of  play — that  is,  to  its  first  ele- 
mentary manifestations,  to  the  play  of  young  animals 
and  of  children.     For  such  plays,  which  must  be  ex- 
plained at  the  very  outset  in  order  to  get  a  satisfactory 
conception  of  the  subject,  are  very  often  not  imitations 
(Nachahmungen),    but    rather    premonitions    (Vorahm- 
ungen)   of  the   serious  occupations   of  the   individual. 
The  "  experimenting  "  of  little  children  and  young  ani- 
mals, their  movement,  hunting,  and  fighting    games, 
which  are  the  most  important  elementary  forms  of  play, 
are  not  imitative  repetitions,  but  rather  preparatory  ef- 
forts.    They  come  before  any  serious  activity,  and  evi- 
dently aim  at  preparing  the  young  creature  for  it  and 
making  him  familiar  with  it.     The  tiny  bird  that  tries 
its  wings  while  still  in  the  nest;  the  antelope  that  (as 
Dr.  A.  Seitz,  director  of  the  zoological  gardens  at  Frank- 
fort, tells  me)  attempts  to  practise  leaping  at  the  age 
of  six  weeks;  the  young  monkey  that  playfully  seizes 
anything  within  his  reach,  and  is  only  quieted  when  he 
has  caught  his  claws  in  the  tufts  of  hair  on  his  own 
body,  and  fettered  them;  the  giraffe  that  is  at  home  in 
its  cage  by  the  third  day  of  life;  the  feline  tribe  that 
learn  so  early  to  cling  by  their  claws;  the  dog  which 
educates  itself,  by  play,  for  fighting  with  other  dogs, 
and  for   pursuing,   seizing,   shaking,   and   rending   its 
prey;  the   infant   that   through   continual   practice   in 
moving  the  fingers  and  toes,  in  kicking,  creeping,  and 
raising  itself,  in  crowing  and  babbling,  wins  the  mas- 
tery over  his  organs;  the  boy  that  romps  with  others, 
and  "can  no   more  help  running  after  another  boy 
who  runs  provokingly  near  him  than  a  kitten  can  help 
3 


8  THE  PLAY  OP  ANIMALS. 

running  after  a  rolling  ball  * — all  these  do  not  imitate 
serious  action,  whose  organ  has  been  dormant  for  an 
interval  "longer  than  ordinary/'  but  rather,  impelled 
by  irresistible  impulse,  they  make  their  first  prepara- 
tions for  such  activities  in  this  way. 

Spencer's  theory  of  play  is  therefore  unsatisfactory, 
so  far  as  concerns  the  adequacy  of  its  explanation  of 
the  problem  by  means  of  the  principle  of  imitation  of 
previously  accomplished  serious  activities  of  the  indi- 
vidual, f  And  since  in  all  the  cases  cited  there  is  really 
no  imitation  of  other  individuals — that  is,  no  "  drama- 
tization of  the  acts  of  adults''  of  which  Spencer  else- 
where treats — it  appears  that  this  principle  of  imitation 
can  not  be  taken  as  a  universal  explanation  of  play. 
Nor  can  I  agree  with  Professor  Wundt  when  he  says, 
in  his  Lectures  on  Human  and  Animal  Psychology: 
"We  regard  certain  actions  of  the  higher  animals  as 
play  when  they  appear  to  be  imitations  of  voluntary 
acts.  But  they  can  be  recognised  as  imitations  be- 
cause the  result  striven  for  only  appears  to  be  such, 
while  the  real  end  is  the  production  of  certain  pleasur- 
able effects,  which  are  connected,  though  as  mere  ac- 
companiments only,  with  real  voluntary  action.  This 
is  as  much  as  to  say  that  animal  play  is  in  general 
terms  identical  with  that  of  the  human  being.  For 
this  is,  at  least  in  its  simpler  form,  and  especially  as  it 
appears  in  the  play  of  children,  '  imitation  of  the  busi- 
ness of  practical  life'  stripped  of  its  original  aim  and 
having  a  pleasurable  mental  effect."  %     Wundt,  in  his 

*  W.  James,  The  Principles  of  Psychology,  London,  1891,  II, 
p.  427. 

f  See  also  the  fine  passage  in  Von  Hartmann,  Philos.  d.  Un- 
bewussten,  10.  Aiifl..  i,  p.  179  f. 

X  W.  Wundt,  Vorlesungen  iiber  die  Menschen  und  Thierseele, 
2.  Aufl.,  1893,  p.  388  (Eng.  trans.,  p.  357). 


THE  SUEPLUS  EXERGY  THEORY  OF  PLAY.   9 

Ethik,  in  which  he  is  evidently  influenced  by  Spencer, 
sets  forth  this  idea  perhaps  more  clearly.  "  Play,"  he 
says  there,  "  is  the  child  of  work.  There  is  no  kind 
of  play  that  does  not  find  its  prototype  in  some  form 
of  serious  activity  which  naturally  precedes  it."  "^ 

It  is,  of  course,  undeniable  that  many  plays  originate 
in  such  imitation,  but  a  glance  over  the  passages  cited 
above  is  sufficient  to  show  that  the  most  important  and 
elementary  kinds  of  play  can  be  attributed  neither  to 
imitative  repetition  of  the  individuars  former  acts,  nor 
to  imitation  of  the  performances  of  others. 

If,  then,  Spencer's  theory  becomes  so  far  untenable 
through  the  deviation  of  its  imitative  principle  from 
Schiller's,  our  next  step  is  evidently  to  inquire  whether 
Schiller's  idea  alone  would  be  satisfactory.  Can  it  be 
admitted  that  accumulated  superabundance  of  energy 
alone  suffices  to  explain  all  the  phenomena  of  play  in 
animals?  In  order  to  get  at  the  full  meaning  of  this 
conception  we  must  consider  the  psychological  aspect 
of  the  surplus  energy  theory,  as  well  as  its  merely  physi- 
ological side.  No  doubt  superabundant  physical  activity 
may  often  be  considered  as  the  psychological  expres- 
sion of  exuberant  spirits.  This  comes  very  near  the 
idea  that  the  play  of  animals  and  human  beings  origi- 
nates in  such  physically  conditioned  dispositions;  it  is 
only  necessary  to  instance  the  great  influence  good 
weather  and  comfortable  temperature  have  on  animals 
and  men.  Karl  Milller  notices  this  in  an  article  on  The 
Mental  Life  of  Higher  Animals  in  connection  with  the 
great  influence  the  weather  has  on  bird-songs,  and  says 
further:  "Does  this  belong  to  the  sexual  instinct?  Or 
has  not  rather  the  sense  of  comfort  and  well-being  the 

*  Ethik,  1886,  p.  145. 


10  TQE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

most  influential  part  in  it?  Look  at  the  healthy  boy  as 
he  runs  outdoors  with  his  bread  and  butter.  We  often 
see  him  break  forth  into  the  most  childish  expressions 
of  delight  over  the  joy-bringer  in  his  hand,  and  this  de- 
light in  the  thought  of  eating  will  show  itself  in  leap- 
ing and  running,  and  often  in  singing,  the  more  ex- 
cessively the  more  feeling  or  temperament  controls 
him.  And  though  the  more  advanced  adult  may  not 
express  his  pleasurable  excitement  in  singing,  he  does 
by.  whistling."  *  Th.  Ziegler  makes  use  of  the  same 
idea:  "  Joy  in  life,  consciousness  of  strength,  and  the 
feeling  of  power — in  short,  the  feeling  of  pleasure  as 
such,  is  in  its  primitive  and  original  meaning  the 
beginning  and  the  end  of  play  for  children."  f  And 
W.  H.  Hudson  says  in  his  wonderful  book,  The  Natural- 
ist in  La  Plata:  J  "  My  experience  is  that  mammals  and 
birds,  with  few  exceptions — probably  there  are  really  no 
exceptions — possess  the  habit  of  indulging  frequently  in 
more  or  less  regular  or  set  performances,  with  or  without 
sound,  or  composed  of  sound  exclusively,  and  that  these 
performances,  which  in  many  animals  are  only  discord- 
ant cries  and  choruses,  and  uncouth,  irregular  motions, 
in  the  more  aerial,  graceful  and  melodious  kinds  take 
immeasurably  higher,  more  complex,  and  more  beautiful 
forms."  *  "  AVe  see  that  the  inferior  animals,  when  the 
conditions  of  life  are  favourable,  are  subject  to  periodical 
fits  of  gladness,  affecting  them  powerfully,  and  standing 
out  in  vivid  contrast  to  their  ordinary  temper.    And  we 

*  Westermann's  Ilhistrirte  Monatshefte,  1880,  pp.  239,  240. 
f  Th.  Ziegrler,  Das  Gefiihl,  1893,  p.  236. 

t  First  edition.  London:  Chapman  and  Hall,  1802.  Third 
edition,  1895  (ray  citation  is  from  this).  See  the  brilliant  criticism 
of  the  work  by  Wallace,  in  Nature,  April  14,  1892. 

#  Loc.  cit,  264. 


THE  SURPLUS  ENERGY  THEORY  OF  PLAY.   H 

know  what  this  feeling  is — this  periodic  intense  elation 
which  even  civilized  man  occasionally  experiences  when 
in  perfect  health,  more  especially  when  young.  There 
are  moments  when  he  is  mad  with  joy,  when  he  can  not 
keep  still,  when  his  impulse  is  to  sing  and  shout  aloud 
and  laugh  at  nothing,  to  run  and  leap  and  exert  himself 
in  some  extravagant  way.  Among  the  heavier  mam- 
malians the  feeling  is  manifested  in  loud  noises,  bellow- 
ings,  and  screamings,  and  in  lumbering,  uncouth  mo- 
tions— throwing  up  of  heels,  pretended  panics,  and 
ponderous  mock  battles.  In  smaller  and  livelier  ani- 
mals, with  greater  celerity  and  certitude  in  their  mo- 
tions, the  feeling  shows  itself  in  more  regular  and  often 
in  more  complex  movements.  Thus  Felidce,  when 
young,  and  very  agile,  sprightly  species  like  the  puma, 
throughout  life  simulate  all  the  actions  of  an  animal 
hunting  its  prey.  .  .  .  Birds  are  more  subject  to  this 
universal  joyous  instinct  than  mammals,  more  buoyant 
and  graceful  in  action,  more  loquacious,  and  have  voices 
so  much  finer,  their  gladness  shows  itself  in  a  greater 
variety  of  ways,  with  more  regular  and  beautiful  mo- 
tions, and  with  melody."  * 

There  is  certainly  no  question  that  from  the  concep- 
tion of  physical  and  mental  overflow  of  energy  as  it  is 
laid  before  us  in  this  series  of  pictures,  a  knowledge  of 
one  of  the  most  important  characteristics  of  the  play 
condition  is  obtained.  The  physiological  impulse  that 
impels  the  latent  powers  to  activity,  and  that  mental 
joyousness  whose  highest  point  of  development  Schiller 
has  justly  recognised  as  the  feeling  of  liberty,  certainly 
form  one  of  the  most  obvious  characteristics  of  play. 
But  it  is  quite  as  certain  that  the  question  whether  by 

*  Loc.  cit„  280  f. 


12  THE   PLAY  OP  ANIMALS. 

it  a  full  comprehension  of  human  and  animal  play  can 
be  obtained,  must  receive  a  negative  answer;  for,  while 
simple  overflow  of  energy  explains  quite  well  that  the 
individual  who  finds  himself  in  a  condition  of  overflow- 
ing energy  is  ready  to  do  something,  it  does  not  explain 
how  it  happens  that  all  the  individuals  of  a  species 
manifest  exactly  the  specific  kind  of  play  expression 
which  prevails  with  their  own  species,  but  differs  from 
every  other.  "  Every  species,"  says  Hudson  most  truly,* 
"  or  group  of  species  has  its  own  inherited  form  or  style 
of  performance;  and  however  rude  and  irregular  this 
may  be,  as  in  the  case  of  the  pretended  stampedes  and 
fights  of  wild  cattle,  that  is  the  form  in  which  the  feel- 
ing will  always  be  expressed."  Such  a  fact,  depending 
as  it  does  on  the  phenomena  of  hereditary  transmission, 
evidently  can  not  be  explained  by  simple  overflow  of 
energy  in  an  individual.  Spencer  has  attempted  to  make 
use  of  the  theory  of  imitation  to  point  out  the  how  and 
why  of  play  activity.  But  we  have  seen  that  the  most 
elementary  and  important  plays  can  not  be  referred  to 
it.  It  thus  becomes  necessary  to  call  in  the  aid  of  some 
other  conception  of  the  subject.  The  solution  of  the 
problem  is  near  at  hand.  Instead  of  pressing  the  idea 
of  imitation  exclusively,  it  is  necessary  to  include  that 
of  instinct  in  general.  Spencer  himself  has  approached 
the  right  understanding  of  the  problem.  When  he  asks. 
What  acts  are  chiefly  imitated? — he  reaches  the  con- 
clusion, chiefly  such  actions  as  "  in  the  life  of  this  par- 
ticular creature  play  the  most  important  role."  f 

And  proceeding  to  give  some  examples  of  this,  he 

*  Loc.  cit.,  281. 

f  Principles  of  Psychology,  ii.,  p.  709.  See  Wallaschek  as  above: 
the  imitation  of  actions  that  are  "  essential  for  the  preservation  of 
life." 


THE  SURPLUS  ENERGY  THEORY  OF  PLAY.  13 

points  out  that  these  important  activities  are  instincts, 
in  particular  destructive  and  robbing  instincts.  Thus 
it  is  only  necessary  for  him  to  modify  his  theory  of  imi- 
tation to  stand  directly  in  the  presence  of  the  right  con- 
ception of  play  which  lies  so  near  his  own.  What  form 
would  the  theory  of  play  take  in  this  case?  Something 
like  this:  The  activity  of  all  living  beings  is  in  the  high- 
est degree  influenced  by  hereditary  instincts — that  is, 
the  way  an  animal  of  a  particular  species  controls  his 
members  and  uses  his  voice,  the  way  he  moves  about  in 
his  natural  element,  supplies  himself  with  food,  fights 
with  other  animals,  or  avoids  them — his  manner  of 
doing  all  these  things  is  governed  fundamentally  by  in- 
herited instincts.  "When,  now,  there  is  on  the  one  hand 
little  demand  for  the  serious  activity  of  such  instincts, 
and,  on  the  other  hand,  the  reintegration  of  nerve  en- 
ergy so  far  surpasses  its  expenditure  that  the  organism 
requires  some  discharge  of  the  accumulated  supply  of 
force — and  both  conditions  are  likely  to  be  the  case  in 
youth  * — then  such  instincts  find  expression  even  with- 
out serious  occasion.  The  kitten  treats  a  scrap  of  paper 
as  its  prey,  the  young  bear  wrestles  with  his  brother,  the 
dog  which  after  long  confinement  is  set  free  hunts  aim- 
lessly about,  etc.  But  such  actions  are  exactly  what  we 
mean  by  the  word  play.f 

Paul  Souriau  seems  to  occupy  a  position  similar  to 
this  in  an  interesting  article  X  where  he  advances  the 
following  idea:  There  are  various  grounds  for  the  pleas- 

*  Also  with  animals  in  confinement.  Spencer  has  specially 
alluded  to  this. 

f  Thus  the  imitative  impulse  appears  as  a  special  instinct  re- 
lated to  the  others.     Concerning  its  significance  1  shall  speak  later, 

t  Le  plaisir  du  mouvement,  Revue  Scientifique,  iii  serie,  tome 
xvii,  p.  365  S.     L'esthetique  du  mouvement,  Paris,  1889,  p.  11  ff. 


14:  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

lire  that  animals  almost  universally  take  in  movement. 
One  of  them  is  found  in  the  fact  that  the  animal  is 
obliged  to  have  a  great  capacity  for  movement  in  all 
the  tasks  of  its  life^  for  obtaining  food,  fleeing  from  its 
enemies,  etc.,  and  accordingly  is  endowed  by  nature 
with  a  corresjDondingly  great  feeling  of  the  necessity  for 
movement.  When  there  is  no  occasion  to  give  free  play 
to  this  feeling,  of  necessity  the  confined  impulses  seek 
to  break  through  all  restrictions,  even  without  serious 
motive,  and  so  play  arises,  "  Hence  the  movements  of 
captive  animals,  of  the  lion  who  walks  up  and  down  his 
cage,  of  the  canary  bird  that  hops  from  perch  to  perch." 
So  the  necessity  for  movement  controls  even  an  in- 
active existence.  For  Souriau,  too,  there  are  inherited 
instincts  that  lead  to  play  when  superfluous  nervous 
energy  is  present  and  the  occasion  for  serious  activity 
wanting.* 

Such  a  conception  as  this,  which  does  not  need  the 
principle  of  imitation,  seems  to  me  to  be  much  nearer 
the  truth.  If  we  glance  backward  from  this  point  of 
our  inquiry  we  perceive  that  the  essential  points  of  the 
whole  question  have  shifted  considerably.  At  first  the 
idea  of  the  overflow  of  energy  stood  predominantly  in 
the  very  centre  of  our  mental  horizon.  But  soon  it  ap- 
peared that  for  a  full  estimate  of  play  it  was  necessary 
to  consider  something  else.  'Now  that  we  have  found 
this  something  else  to  be  instinct,  the  principle  of  sur- 
plus energy  begins  to  lose  some  of  its  original  impor- 
tance.    For  it  is  now  apparent  that  the  real  essence  of 

*  Gr.  H.  Schneider  expresses  a  similar  view.  He,  too,  places  in- 
stinct more  in  the  fore<2:round.  bnt  without  recoo:nising  the  fact 
that  the  chief  sic:nificance  of  the  Spencerian  principle  would  thus 
he  imperilled.  Der  thicrische  Wille,  1880,  p.  G8.  Der  raenschliche 
Wille,  1882,  p.  201  f. 


THE  SURPLUS  ENERGY  THEORY  OF  PLAY.  15 

play,  the  source  from  whicli  it  springs,  is  to  be  sought 
in  instinct.  It  is  an  essential  fact  that  the  instincts 
are  constantly  lurking  in  ambush  ready  to  spring  out 
on  the  first  occasion.  A  condition  of  surplus  energy 
still  appears  as  the  conditio  sine  qua  non,  that  permits 
the  force  of  the  instincts  to  be  so  augmented  that  final- 
ly, when  a  real  occasion  for  their  use  is  wanting,  they 
form  their  own  motive,  and  so  permit  indulgence  in 
merely  sportive  acts.  Here  I  reach  the  limits  of  a 
merely  physiological  explanation  of  play.  But  before 
going  a  step  further  in  the  criticism  of  the  overflow-of- 
energy  theory  by  seeking  to  find  a  standpoint  which  in- 
cludes the  biological  significance  of  play,  I  may  here 
consider  another  theory  which  at  first  appears  to  be  dia- 
metrically opposed  to  that  of  surplus  energy.  I  mean 
the  conception  which  obtains,  especially  in  Germany, 
that  play  is  for  recreation.  Steinthal  has  recently 
shown  *  very  beautifully  how  recreation  may  be  consid- 
ered from  its  intrinsic  significance  to  mean  making 
one's  self  over — that  is,  creating  anew,  restoring  lost 
powers,  both  physical  and  mental.  Such  restoration 
can  be  had  partially  by  means  of  sleep  and  nourishment. 
But  in  recreative  play  strength  is  needed  to  win 
strength.  This  idea  is  advanced  by  many.  Guts 
Muths  entitles  his  collection  of  games,  Games  for  the 
Exercise  and  Eecreation  of  Body  and  Mind.f 

Schaller  says  that  to  the  cultivated  consciousness 
play  presents  itself  somewhat  as  follows:  An  occupa- 
tion not  directed  to  the  satisfaction  of  simply  natural 
requirements  or  to  the  discharge  of  the  practical  busi- 


*  H.  Steinthal,  Zu  Bibel  nnd  RcH,£rionpphilosop]iie.     A^ortrage 
und  Abhandlungen,  new  series,  Berlin.  1805.  p.  249. 
f  First  edition,  1793;  eighth  edition,  1893. 


IQ  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

ness  of  life,  but  securing  rather  the  end  of  recreation.* 
Lazarus  directs  us,  when  we  need  restoration,  to  flee 
from  empty  idleness  to  active  recreation  in  play.f  The 
Jesuit  Julius  Caesar  Bulengerus  begins  his  book  on  the 
games  of  the  ancients  with  these  words:  "  ISTeque  homi- 
nes neque  bruta  in  perpetua  corporis  et  animi  conten- 
tione  esse  possunt  non  magis  quam  fides  in  cithara  aut 
nervus  in  arcu.  Ideo  ludo  egent.  Ludunt  inter  se  catuli 
equulei,  leunculi,  ludunt  in  aquis  pisces,  ludunt  homines 
labore  fracti,  et  aliquid  remittunt,  ut  animos  reficiant."  X 
But  the  most  attractive  exposition  of  the  theory  of  recre- 
ation is  given  in  an  old  legend  quoted  by  Guts  Muths.* 
John  the  Evangelist  was  once  playing  with  a  partridge, 
which  he  stroked  with  his  hand.  A  man  came  along, 
in  appearance  a  sportsman,  and  beheld  the  evangelist 
with  astonishment  because  he  took  pleasure  in  a  little 
creature  which  was  of  no  account.  ^^  Art  thou,  then, 
really  the  evangelist  whom  everybody  reads  and  whose 
fame  has  brought  me  here?  How  does  such  vanity  com- 
port with  thy  reputation?"  "Good  friend,"  replied 
the  gentle  John,  "what  is  that  I  see  in  your  hand?" 
"  A  bow,"  answered  the  stranger.  "  And  why  do  you 
not  have  it  always  strung  and  ready  for  use?  "  "  That 
would  not  do.  If  I  kept  it  strung  it  would  grow  lax,  and 
be  good  for  nothing."  "  Then,"  said  John,  "  do  not 
wonder  at  what  you  see  me  do." 

Here,  then,  there  seems  to  be  an  irreconcilable  con- 
flict. The  Schiller-Spencer  theory  allows  the  accumu- 
lated surplus  of  energy  to  expend  itself  in  play;  the  rec- 


*  J.  Schaller,  Das  Spiel  iind  die  Spiele,  Weimar,  18G1. 
f  M.  Lazarus,  Ueber  die  Reize  des  Spiels,  Berlin,  1883,  p.  48  ff. 
X  De  Ludis  privatis  ac  domesticis  Veterum,  1627,  p.  1. 
#Guts  Muths,  loc.  cit.,  23  f. 


THE  SURPLUS  ENERGY  THEORY  OF  PLAY.  17 

reation  theory,  on  the  contrary,  finds  in  the  very  acts 
restoration  of  the  powers  that  are  approaching  exhaus- 
tion. There  they  are  wastefully  cast  off;  here,  thriftily 
stored  away.  Is  it  not  remarkable  that  the  same  object 
can  present  itself  to  the  observer  in  ways  so  contrary? 
A  closer  examination,  however,  shows  that  in  this  case 
the  contradiction  is  only  apparent.  In  fact,  the  two 
ideas  can  in  many  cases  be  so  developed  that  they  appear 
as  different  aspects  of  the  same  conception  mutually  ex- 
planatory of  each  other.  When,  for  example,  a  student 
goes  to  have  a  game  of  ninepins  in  the  evening,  he  thus 
tones  up  his  relaxed  mental  powers  at  the  same  time  that 
he  finds  a  means  of  relieving  his  accumulated  motive 
impulses,  repressed  during  his  work  at  the  desk.  So  it 
is  the  same  act  that  on  the  one  hand  disposes  of  his 
superfluous  energy,  and  on  the  other,  restores  his  lost 
powers.  This  is  true  in  all  cases  when  play  can  be  con- 
sidered as  recreation.  The  recreation  theory  is  thus, 
so  far  as  it  has  any  value  at  all,  not  contradictory,  but 
rather  supplementary  to  the  Schiller-Spencer  idea  of 
play.  An  exhaustive  criticism  of  the  recreation  theory, 
in  so  far  as  it  claims  to  explain  play,  I  do  not  consider 
necessary  in  a  book  treating  of  the  play  of  animals.  For 
it  must  be  evident  to  any  one,  on  reflection,  that  this  idea, 
which  may  be  very  effective  in  a  limited  sphere,  could 
not  be  justifiably  expanded  for  application  to  the  whole 
field  of  play.  It  occupies  too  much  the  standpoint  of 
the  adult  who  seeks  recreation  in  a  "  little  game  "  after 
the  burden  and  heat  of  the  day.  That  play  can  furnish 
recreation  is  not  questioned,  only  that  the  necessity  for 
recreation  originates  play.  That  the  young  dog  romps 
with  his  fellows  because  he  feels  the  need  of  recreation 
no  one  will  seriously  affirm.  Evidently  the  advocates  of 
the  recreation  theory,  as  a  rule,  know  very  little  about  the 


18  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

play  of  animals,  and  probably  they  have  no  conception 
of  the  extent  of  the  subject.  But  the  child  whose  whole 
mental  life,  as  J.  S dialler  rightly  remarks,*  partakes 
predominantly  of  the  character  of  play,  must  bear  wit- 
ness to  the  fact  that  while  play  may  satisfy  in  many  cases 
the  need  for  recreation,  it  most  certainly  does  not  origi- 
nate in  it.  I  have  been  obliged  to  give  special  attention 
to  the  recreation  theory,  because  it  seemed  to  contradict 
the  doctrine  of  surplus  energy.  It  has  now  been  shown 
that  this  is  not  the  case.  In  seeking  to  go  a  step  further 
in  my  criticism  of  the  Spencerian  theor}^,  I  find  no  sup- 
port in  the  recreation  idea,  but  must  attempt  to  go  on 
independently.  Let  us  present  clearly  to  our  minds  the 
position  of  our  inquiry.  Setting  out  with  the  overflow- 
of-energy  idea,  we  found  that  Spencer's  connection  of 
this  principle  with  that  of  imitation  Avas  not  applicable 
to  all  play.  Thus  the  expectation  of  explaining  it  all 
by  means  of  surplus  energy  alone  was  found  to  be  un- 
tenable. We  then  went  on  to  include  the  idea  of  in- 
stinct. The  overflow  of  accumulated  vigour  no  longer 
appeared  as  the  source  of  play,  but  yet  as  its  conditio 
sine  qua  non.  As  now  I  proceed  in  the  following  pages 
to  throw  doubt  also  upon  this  formulation  of  the  Schiller- 
Spencerian  principle,  I  wish  to  avoid  misunderstanding 
by  making  it  clear  at  the  outset  that  I  do  not  underesti- 
mate the  worth  of  that  idea.  It  only  seems  to  me  that, 
even  considering  it  as  a  mere  conditio  sine  qua  non  of 
play,  there  is  still  a  large  territory  to  be  accounted  for 
outside  of  its  limits.  However,  the  overflow  of  energy 
is  sufficiently  important,  and  must  be  considered  still  the 
most  favourable  though  not  the  necessary  condition  of 
play. 


*  Das  Spiel  und  die  Spiele,  1861,  p. 


THE  SURPLUS  ENERGY  THEORY  OF  PLAY.  19 

Going  on  now  to  the  arguments  that  ground  my 
own  opinion,  it  can  yery  easily  be  shown  that  the  facts 
do  not  point  to  the  universal  or  essential  value  of  the 
Schiller-Spencerian  principle.  Certainly  in  innumerable 
cases  the  superfluity  of  unemployed  energy  gives  an  im- 
pulse to  play,  but  in  many  others  one  is  impressed  with 
the  fact  that  instinct  is  a  power  in  itself  which  does  not 
need  special  accumulated  stores  of  energy  to  bring  it 
into  activity.  Some  examples  will  make  this  clear. 
[N'otice  a  kitten  when  a  piece  of  paper  blows  past.  Will 
not  any  observer  confirm  the  statement  that  just  as  an 
old  cat  must  be  tired  to  death  or  else  already  filled  to 
satiety  if  it  does  not  try  to  seize  a  mouse  running  near  it, 
so  will  the  kitten,  too,  spring  after  the  moving  object, 
even  if  it  has  been  exercising  for  hours  and  its  super- 
fluous energies  are  entirely  disposed  of?  Or  observe  the 
play  of  young  dogs  when  two  of  them  have  raced 
about  the  garden  until  they  are  obliged  to  stop  from 
sheer  fatigue,  and  they  lie  on  the  ground  panting,  with 
tongues  hanging  out.  Xow  one  of  them  gets  up,  glances 
at  his  companion,  and  the  irresistible  power  of  his  in- 
nate longing  for  the  fray  seizes  him  again.  He  ap- 
proaches the  other,  sniffs  lazily  about  him,  and,  though 
he  is  evidently  only  half  inclined  to  obey  the  power- 
ful impulse,  attempts  to  seize  his  leg.  The  one  provoked 
yawns,  and  in  a  slow,  tired  kind  of  way  puts  himself  on 
the  defensive;  but  gradually  instinct  conquers  fatigue 
in  him  too,  and  in  a  few  minutes  both  are  tearing  madly 
about  in  furious  rivalry  until  the  want  of  breath  puts 
an  end  to  the  game.  And  so  it  goes  on  with  endless 
repetition,  until  we  get  the  impression  that  the  dog 
waits  only  long  enough  to  collect  the  needed  strength, 
not  till  superfluous  vigour  urges  him  to  activity.  I  have 
often  noticed  that  a  young  dog  whom  I  have  taken  for 


20  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

a  long  walk,  and  who  at  last,  evidently  tired  out,  trotted 
behind  me  in  a  spiritless  manner  very  different  from 
his  usnal  behaviour,  as  soon  as  he  was  in  the  garden  and 
spied  a  piece  of  wood,  sprang  after  it  with  great  bounds 
and  began  playing  with  it.  Just  so  we  see  children  out 
walking  who  are  so  tired  with  their  constant  running 
about  that  they  can  only  be  kept  from  tears  by  coaxing, 
yet  quickly  set  their  tired  little  legs  in  motion  again  and 
deny  their  fatigue  if  an  opportunity  offers  for  play.  Of 
children  and  young  animals  it  is  true  that,  except  when 
they  are  eating,  they  play  all  day,  till  at  night,  tired 
out  with  play,  they  sink  to  sleep.  Even  sick  children 
play,  but  only  to  the  extent  that  their  strength  admits 
of  it,  and  not  as  it  exists  overabundantly.  Similar 
observations  may  be  made  with  regard  to  the  playing 
adult  in  many  cases.  A  student  who  has  worked  all 
day  with  a  mental  strain,  so  that  he  can  hardly  collect 
his  thoughts  for  any  serious  effort,  sits  down  in  the  even- 
ing to  the  mock  battle  of  a  card  table  and  takes  his  part 
in  the  game  with  spirit  for  its  complicated  problems.  "If 
any  one  will  analyze  the  mental  operations  belonging  to 
a  single  game  of  cards,  the  chains  of  reasoning  which 
each  player  carries  on  for  himself  and  attributes  to  the 
others,  in  order  to  plan  for  circumventing  them,  he  will 
be  much  surprised  at  the  variety  and  inexhaustible  rich- 
ness of  mental  activity  displayed."  *  Can  we  speak  in 
such  cases  of  a  superfluity  of  mental  energy  that  origi- 
nated from  the  fact  of  longer  rest  than  usual? 

A  soldier  or  a  banker  who  is  engaged  day  by  day  in 
an  exciting  struggle  with  the  caprices  of  fortune  hurries 
to  the  gaming  table,  and  for  half  the  night,  wavering 
between  hope  and  fear,  strives  to  produce  the  same  sen- 

*  Lazarus,  Reize  des  Spiels,  p.  116. 


THE  SURPLUS  ENERGY  THEORY  OF  PLAY.  21 

sations.  Must  it  not  be  admitted  that  he  does  not 
play  for  recreation  nor  for  the  relief  of  stored-up  en- 
ergy? It  is  the  simple  force  of  the  demon  instinct 
that  urges  and  even  compels  to  activity  not  only  if  and 
so  long  as  the  vessel  overflows  (to  use  a  figure  of  speech), 
but  even  when  there  is  but  a  last  drop  left  in  it.  The 
theory  of  overflowing  energy  requires  that  first  and 
necessarily  there  shall  be  abounding  vigour;  from  it  the 
impulse  must  originate.  Superabundant  life  compels 
itself  to  act,  says  Spencer.  The  instincts  would  in  that 
case  be  only  the  bed  prepared  for  the  self-originated 
stream  to  flow  in.  I  maintain,  on  the  other  hand,  that 
though  this  often  appears  true,  it  does  not  always  prove 
to  be  so.* 

It  is  not  necessarily  true  that  the  impulse  results 
from  the  overreadiness  and  straining  of  the  nervous  sys- 
tem for  discharge.  Notice  the  kitten  that  lies  there  la- 
zily, perhaps  even  softly  dozing,  till  a  ball  rolls  toward  it. 
Here  the  impulse  comes  from  an  external  excitement 
that  wakes  the  hunting  instinct.  If  the  kitten  has  a 
particular  need  for  motor  discharge  she  will  play  of 


*  Even  in  the  case  where  the  Spencerian  theory  appears  to  be 
most  satisfactory — namely,  that  of  the  playful  acts  of  animals  in 
confinement,  the  monotonous  walking  up  and  down  in  the  cage, 
the  gnawing  and  licking  the  woodwork — is  primarily  not  an  in- 
stance of  overflowing  energy,  but  rather  of  thwarted  instinct. 
Thus  Lloyd  Morgan  says :  "  The  animal  prevented  from  perform- 
ing his  instinctive  activities  is  often  apparently  unquiet,  uneasy, 
and  distressed.  Hence  I  said  that  the  animals  in  our  zoological 
gardens,  even  if  born  and  reared  in  captivity,  may  exhibit  a 
craving  for  freedom  and  a  yearning  to  perform  their  instinctive 
activities.  This  craving  may  be  regarded  as  a  blind  and  vague 
impulse,  prompting  the  animal  to  perform  those  activities  which 
are  for  its  own  good  and  for  the  good  of  the  race  to  which  it  be- 
longs."   Animal  Life  and  Intelligence,  1891,  p.  430. 


22  THE  PLxVY  OF  ANIMALS. 

course.  But  when  this  need  is  not  present,  as  is  the 
case  in  our  examjDle,  she  still  leaps  after  the  ball;  and 
only  when  disabled  through  utter  fatigue  would  the 
cat  fail  to  obey  the  impulse.  The  physiological  condi- 
tions that  lead  a  young  animal  to  play  at  hunting  need 
not  be  any  other  than  those  which  enable  an  adult  ani- 
mal to  pursue  its  natural  prey. 

If,  therefore,  these  facts  lead  us  to  expect  to  find 
the  chief  problems  of  play  in  our  conception  of  instinct, 
they  also  force  upon  us  a  consideration  of  the  great  bio- 
logical significance  of  play.  For  even  if  I  should  not 
succeed  in  convincing  the  reader  that  superabundance  of 
nerve  energy  is  not  even  a  conditio  sine  qua  non,  but 
rather  only  a  particularly  favourable  condition  for  play, 
I  have  still  every  right  to  maintain  that  the  Schiller- 
Spencer  theory  is  unsatisfactory;  for  while  it  attempts, 
it  is  true,  to  make  clear  the  physiological  conditions  of 
play,  this  theory  has  notliing  to  say  about  its  great  bio- 
logical significance.  According  to  it,  play  would  be  only 
an  accidental  accompaniment  of  organic  development. 
Tor  the  advance  toward  perfection,  due  to  the  struggle 
for  existence,  brings  it  about  that  the  more  highly  de- 
veloped animals  have  less  to  do  than  their  powers  are 
competent  for.  Opposed  to  this  xiew  is  the  very  gen- 
eral conviction  among  those  who  study  animals  that 
the  play  of  young  animals  especially  has  a  clearly  defined 
biological  end — namely,  the  preparation  of  the  animal 
for  its  particular  life  activities.  I  have  heard  this  ex- 
planation of  play  given  in  similar  terms  by  foresters  and 
by  zoological  specialists.  Thus  Paul  Souriau  says,  in  the 
article  already  referred  to :  "  The  necessity  for  move- 
ment is  especially  great  in  youth,  because  the  young  ani- 
mal must  try  all  the  movements  that  he  has  to  make 
later,  and  also  exercise  his  muscles  and  joints  to  de- 


THE  SURPLUS  ENERGY  THEORY  OF  PLAY.     23 

velop  them.  We  know  that  all  animals  have  a  tendency 
to  make  use  of  a  certain  amount  of  energy,  determined 
not  by  the  accidental  needs  of  the  individual,  but  by  the 
needs  of  the  species  in  general."  But  if  this  is  the  case, 
play  itself  is  not  merely  a  result  of  the  accidental  needs 
of  the  individual,  but  rather  an  effect  of  natural  selec- 
tion, which  works  for  anything  that  is  serviceable  for 
the  preservation  of  the  species.  The  observation  of  the 
different  kinds  of  play  is  sufficient  to  establish  this. 
Most  plays  of  young  animals — and  it  is  this  that  must 
always  present  the  essential  problem  in  a  theory  of  play 
— act  for  the  preservation  of  the  individual,  all  for  the 
preservation  of  the  species.  At  the  same  time  the  natu- 
ral— that  is,  the  self-originated — plays  of  human  beings 
are  to  be  considered  as  practice  that  is  useful  not  only  to 
the  individual,  but  also  to  the  race.  '^  Pro  patria  est, 
dum  ludere  videmur  "  is  the  motto  that  Guts  Muths  has 
placed  in  the  front  of  his  book. 

Can  a  phenomenon  that  is  of  so  great,  so  incalculable 
value  possibly  be  simply  a  convenient  method  of  dis- 
sipating superfluous  accumulations  of  energy?  In  all 
this  there  seems  nothing  to  hinder  the  assumption  that 
the  instincts  operative  in  play,  like  so  many  phenomena 
of  heredity,  first  appear  when  the  animal  really  needs 
them.  Where,  then,  would  be  the  play  of  the  young? 
It  would  not  be  provoked  either  by  overflowing  nervous 
energy  or  by  the  need  for  recreation.  Yet  the  early 
appearance  of  this  instinct  is  of  inestimable  impor- 
tance. Without  it  the  adult  animal  would  be  but  poorly 
equipped  for  the  tasks  of  his  life.  He  would  have  far 
less  than  the  requisite  amount  of  practice  in  running 
and  leaping,  in  springing  on  his  prey,  in  seizing  and 
strangling  the  victim,  in  fleeing  from  his  enemies,  in 
fighting  his  opponents,  etc.  The  muscular  system  would 
4 


24:  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

not  be  sufficiently  developed  and  trained  for  all  these 
tasks.  Moreover,  nmch  would  be  wanting  in  the  struc- 
ture of  his  skeleton,  much  that  must  be  supplied  by  func- 
tional adaptation  during  the  life  of  each  individual,  even 
in  the  period  of  growth.  The  thought  presents  itself 
here  that  it  must  be  the  iron  hand  of  natural  selection 
that  brings  into  bold  relief  without  too  compelling  in- 
sistence and  apparently  without  serious  motive — namely, 
by  means  of  play — what  will  later  be  so  necessary.  There 
need  not  be  any  particular  superfluity  of  energy;  so  long 
as  only  a  small  remnant  of  unemployed  force  is  present 
the  animal  will  follow  the  law  that  heredity  has  stamped 
upon  him. 

Thus  we  see  that  the  explanation  of  play  by  means 
of  the  overflow-of-energy  theory  proves  to  be  unsatisfac- 
tory. A  condition  of  superabundant  nervous  force  is 
always,  I  must  again  emphatically  reiterate,  a  favourable 
one  for  play,  but  it  is  not  its  motive  cause,  nor,  as  I 
believe,  a  necessary  condition  of  its  existence.  Instinct 
alone  is  the  real  foundation  of  it.  Foundation,  I  say, 
because  all  play  is  not  purely  instinctive  activity.  On 
the  contrary,  the  higher  we  ascend  in  the  scale  of  exist- 
ence the  richer  and  finer  become  the  psychological  phe- 
nomena that  supplement  the  mere  natural  impulse,  en- 
nobling it,  elevating  it,  and  tending  to  conceal  it  under 
added  details. 

But  the  fundamental  idea  from  which  we  must  pro- 
ceed is  instinct.  My  first  task  must  be  the  examination 
of  instinct;  and  after  a  longer,  but  I  hope  not  altogether 
uninteresting,  exposition,  I  shall  return  to  the  points 
made  above  and  give  them  more  adequate  treatment. 


CHAPTER  II. 

PLAY   AND   INSTINCT. 

Would  it  not  be  building  on  water  or  shifting  sand 
to  attempt  the  explanation  of  a  psychological  phenome- 
non by  means  of  the  mere  concept  of  instinct?     "  The 
word  instinct/'  remarked  Hermann  Samuel  Eeimarus  in 
1760,  "has  been  until  now  so  vague  and  unsettled  that 
it  scarcely  had  any  certain  meaning,  or  rather  it  had  the 
most  various  uses."  *    This  was  still  quite  true  up  to  the 
middle  of  the  present  century  of  the  topic  as  a  whole, 
and  it  will  probably   always   continue  to  be   true  in 
regard  to  many   details.     "In  speaking  on  instinct," 
says  Eibot,  with  laconic  brevity,  "the  first  difficulty 
is  to   define  it."  f      Since  the  time  of   Darwin,  how- 
ever,  a   great   and   important   forward   step   has   been 
taken,  and  Darwinism  has  assumed  of  late  years  a  form 
that  offers  a  fixed  point  of  departure  for  the  investi- 
gation of  the  problem  that  concerns  us  in  this  chap- 
ter.   It  is  by  no  means  my  intention  in  what  follows  to 
give  a  history  of  the  idea  of  instinct— a  task  never  yet 
undertaken,  to  my  knowledge.     Still,  it  is  necessary  to 
clear  the  way  for  the  comprehension  of  the  problem  and 
the  appreciation  of  the  view  which  I  shall  advocate,  by 

*  H.  S.  Reimarus,  AUgemeine  Betrachtungen  iiber  die  Triebe 
der  Thiere,  bauptsiichlich  iiber  ihre  Kunsttriebe,  Hamburg,  1773. 
+  Th.  Ribot,  L'Heredite  psychologique,  Paris,  1804,  p.  15. 

35 


26  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

a  glance  at  the  most  important  positions  of  modern 
thought.  The  following  points  of  view  may  be  distin- 
guished : 

1.  The  transcendental-teleological  conception:  (a) 
the  theological,  (h)  the  metaphysical,  explanation  of  in- 
stinct. 

2.  The  point  of  view  which  repudiates  the  notion  of 
instinct. 

3.  The  Darwinian  solution,  by  means  of  (a)  the 
transmission  of  both  acquired  and  congenital  characters; 
(b)  the  transmission  of  acquired  characters  only;  (c)  the 
transmission  of  congenital  characters  only. 

Very  early  in  modern  thought  we  see  the  theological 
form  of  the  transcendental-teleological  conception  of  in- 
stinct brought  forward  by  Descartes.  For  while  he,  fol- 
lowing the  Spaniard  Pereira,  denied  to  animals  a  rea- 
soning intelligence,  and  considered  them  as  mere  ma- 
chines or  automata,  he  advocated  the  idea  that  the 
apparent  intelligent  actions  of  animals  are  to  be  traced 
directly  to  divine  influence.  The  almost  marvellous 
suiting  of  means  to  end  seen  in  the  actions  of  many  ani- 
mals, especially  those  displaying  constructive  instincts, 
furnishes  sufficient  ground  for  a  similar  opinion  among 
many  not  at  all  inclined  to  deny  all  intellectual  life  to 
animals.  (The  strict  Cartesian  doctrine  was  for  a  long 
time  so  influential  that  the  celebrated  Leroy,  through 
fear  of  persecution  by  the  Sorbonne,  published  his  letters 
on  animal  intelligence  *  as  the  work  of  a  "  physician 
of  Nuremberg.") 

The  idea  that  these  mysterious  instinctive  capabili- 
ties are  directly  implanted  in  the  animal  by  God  had  a 


*  Ch.  G.  Leroy,  Lettres  philosophiqnes  siir  I'intelligence  et  la 
perfectibilite  des  aniraaux,  1764,  new  edition,  1803. 


PLAY  AND  INSTINCT.  27 

great  attractive  power  for  religious  natures,  and  espe- 
cially so  at  the  epoch  of  the  Enhghtenment,  that  period 
of  reflective  thought  when  the  favourite  attitude  was 
one  of  "  adoring  contemplation"  of  the  Creator's  power. 
A  naive  conception  of  the  universe  like  that  of  Gellert, 
for  instance,  who  informs  us  in  one  of  his  poems  that 
God  called  the  sun  and  moon  into  existence  for  the  pur- 
pose of  dividing  the  seasons,  naturally  impels  its  holders 
to  similar  conclusions  with  regard  to  the  adaptation  of 
animal  instincts.     Two  examples  from  this  period  and 
three  modern  ones  may  serve  to  illustrate  this  concep- 
tion.    Komanes  quotes  this  remark  of  Addison's:  "I 
look  upon  instinct  as  upon  the  principle  of  gravitation 
in  bodies,  which  is  not  to  be  explained  by  any  known 
qualities  inherent  in  the  bodies  themselves,  nor  from 
any  laws  of  mechanism,  but  as  an  immediate  impression 
from  the  first  mover  and  divine  energy  acting  in  the 

creatures. 

Eeimarus  regards  instinct  as  a  direct  proof  of  the 
existence  of  God.  His  work,  referred  to  above,  contains 
a  chapter  on  knowledge  of  the  Creator  through  animal 
art-impulses,  in  which  he  expresses  the  opinion  that 
such  powers  of  body  and  soul  as  animal  instincts  dis- 
close surpass  the  forces  of  Nature,  showing  us  the  "  wise 
and  good  Author  of  Nature  who  has  appointed  for  every 
animal  the  powers  necessary  for  his  hfe." 

A  definition  from  the  eighth  edition  of  the  Encyclo- 
pedia Britannica  may  be  mentioned  as  a  modern  ex- 
ample- t  "It  thus  remains  for  us  to  regard  mstmct  as 
a  mental  faculty,  sui  generis,  the  gift  of  God  to  the  lower 
animals,  that  man  in  his  own  person  and  by  them  might 
be  relieved  from  the  meanest  drudgery  of  Nature. 

*  G.  J.  Romanes,  Animal  Intelligence,  p.  11.        ^     ^ 

t  Cited  from  Romanes's  Darwin  and  after  Darwm,  i,  p.  ^yu. 


28  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

Brehm  mentions  a  professor  of  zoology  *  by  whom 
the  old  theory  of  instinct  was  set  forth  in  its  crude  dual- 
istic  form — which  was  at  that  time  combated  most  ener- 
getically by  the  opposers  of  the  word  instinct — i.  e.,  that 
animals  have  only  instinct  and  no  reasoning  powers, 
while  man  has  reasoning  powers  and  no  instinct.  "  We 
know  well/'  says  this  zoologist,  "  that  a  being  capable  of 
adapting  means  to  his  ends  must  be  a  reflecting,  reason- 
ing being,  and  that  in  this  world  man  is  the  only  such  be- 
ing. An  animal  does  not  think,  does  not  reason,  nor  set 
itself  aims,  and  therefore,  if  it  acts  intelligently,  some 
other  being  must  have  thought  for  it.  A  higher  law  pro- 
vides the  ways  and  means  of  its  defence.  The  acts  of 
men  alone  are  governed  by  their  own  reason.  Deep 
thought  is  doubtless  disclosed  in  the  actions  of  animals, 
but  the  animals  did  not  think  them  any  more  than  does  a 
machine  whose  work  represents  an  embodied  chain  of 
reasoning.  The  bird  sings  entirely  without  his  own  co- 
operation; he  must  sing  when  the  time  comes,  and  he 
can  not  do  otherwise,  nor  can  he  sing  at  any  other  time. 
The  bird  fights  because  fight  he  must  by  order  of  a 
higher  power.  The  fact  is  evident  that  the  animal  does 
not  consciously  fight  for  any  special  thing,  such  as  the 
undisturbed  possession  of  the  female,  nor  seek  by  his 
struggles  and  effort  to  attain  it.  He  acts  as  a  mere  crea- 
ture of  Nature  under  her  stringent  laws.  It  is  not  the 
animal  that  acts,  for  he  is  impelled  by  a  higher  power 
to  altogether  fixed  courses  of  conduct.  Parent  birds 
can  not  deviate  from  a  certain  fixed  method  of  rearing 
their  young;  both  must  work  and  help  in  the  process; 
a  command  from  above  compels  them  to  stay  and  work 


*  V.  B.  Altum,  Der  Vogel  und  sein  Leben,  Miinster,  1875,  fifth 
edition,  p.  6  1,  114,  126  ;  13  f.,  138,  141. 


PLAY  AND  IXSTINCT.  29 

together.  This  is  all  that  a  happy  marriage  means  to 
birds.  There  is  no  freedom,  no  voluntary  action,  no 
play  of  varying  moods,  no  life  of  emotion  or  of  thought 
to  be  expressed  in  the  animal's  actions.  Without  know- 
ing what  he  does  or  why  he  does  it,  he  makes  directly 
for  Nature's  goal."  * 

The  well-known  zoologist  AYasman  refers  instinct 
to  the  Supreme  Power,  but  with  greater  moderation. 
He  holds  that  in  instinctive  acts  themselves  feeling  and 
presentation  may  be  present,  but,  so  far  as  instincts  are 
not  explicable  by  the  animal's  own  intelligence,  he 
refers  them  to  the  Creator's  influence.  "  Since," 
he  says,  "  animals  do  not  know  the  end  of  their  in- 
stinctive actions,  so  much  the  less  can  they  consciously 
pursue  it.  There  must  be  a  higher  intelligence  present, 
which  not  only  knows  the  end  but  has  ordered  it.  This 
intelligence  can  be  no  other  than  that  of  the  Creator  who 
has  arranged  the  order  of  Xature,  and  made  everything 
conducive  to  the  proper  preservation  of  that  order.  The 
adaptability  of  the  several  instincts  of  unreflecting 
brutes,  as  well  as  their  correlation  to  those  of  other  mem- 
bers of  creation,  must  have  its  origin  in  creative  intelli- 
gence." t 

The  efforts  of  metaphysicians  to  find  a  solution  of 
the  question  are  of  a  similar  character.  The  spiritual 
principle  is,  of  course,  substituted  for  the  Christian's 
God,  but  the  transcendental-teleological  view  is  re- 
tained.   A  few  citations  may  be  useful  here  too.     Schel- 

*  A.  E.  Brehra,  Thierleben,  vol.  i.,  p.  21. 

f  E.  Wasman,  Die  Zusammengesetzten  und  Gemischten  Kolo- 
nien  der  Ameisen,  Miinster,  1891.  p.  214.  See,  also,  the  interest- 
ing article  by  0.  Fliigel,  Zur  Psychologie  und  Entwickelungsge- 
schichte  der  Ameisen,  Zeitschrift  fiir  exacte  Philosophie,  vol.  xx, 
p.  66. 


30  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

ling  puts  All-pervading  Reason  in  the  place  of  a  personal 
God.  "  Animals/'  he  says,  "  in  their  acts  express  or  wit- 
ness to  the  All-pervading  Eeason,  without  themselves 
reasoning.  Eeason  is  in  what  they  do  without  being  in 
themselves.  They  may  be  said  to  reason  through  the 
force  of  Xature,  for  Nature  is  reason."  And  likening  in- 
stinct to  gravity,  as  Addison  did,  he  reaches  the  conclu- 
sion that  "  the  animal  is  held  by  instinct  to  the  absolute 
Substance  as  to  the  ground  by  gravitation."  * 

G.  F.  Schuberth  derives  instinct  from  the  "  world- 
soul."  t  El.  C.  Carus  says  it  is  "  the  unconscious  work- 
ing of  the  Idea  "  that  produces  organic  adaptation  and 
beauty,  and  also  instinctive  activity.  J:  Similar  to  this  is 
E.  von  Hartmann's  tracing  of  instinct  to  the  "  Uncon- 
scious." An  exact  student  of  Darwinian  literature,  he 
recognises  the  Darwinian  principles  only  as  means  or 
instruments  used  by  the  Unconscious,  in  which  alone 
the  ultimate  explanation  is  to  be  sought."* 

So  much  for  the  transcendental-teleological  theory. 
I  am  far  from  concurring  with  the  many  modern  inves- 
tigators who  regard  all  religious  or  metaphysical  ideas 
with  contempt,  seeing  in  the  former  a  disease  of  youth, 
and  in  the  latter  youthful  sentimentalism  not  worthy 
of  the  serious  consideration  of  riper  years."^    In  a  dec- 

*  System  der  gesammten  Philosophie  und  der  Naturphilosophie 
insbesondere,  p.  238. 

f  Allgemeine  Thierseelenkimde,  Leipsic,  1863,  p.  14,  23. 
:}:  Vergleichende  Psychologie,  Vienna,  1866,  p.  59. 

*  Das  Unbewusste  vom  Standpunkt  der  Physiologie  und  De- 
scendenztheorie,  in  the  third  volume  of  his  Philosophie  des  Unbe- 
wussten,  1889,  p.  271. 

^  This  false  idea  is  referable  to  the  principles  of  A.  Comte,  who 
laid  down  the  "  fundamental  law  "  of  the  three  stages  of  develop- 
ment in  man — the  theological  or  fiction  stage,  the  metaphysical  or 
abstract  stage,  and  the  scientific  or  positive  stage — and  likened 


PLAY  AND   IXSTIXCT.  31 

ade  when  we  again  stand  at  a  turning  point  of  time, 
when  in  poHte  literature  the  word  is,  Xaturalism  is 
dead;  when  plastic  art  turns  toward  a  manifold,  m3-s- 
tic,  new  idealism;  when  a  Xeo-vitalism  is  arising  in  bi- 
ology; when  a  Brunetiere  proclaims  with  cool  audacity 
the  bankruptcy  of  positive  science  * — such  a  time  is 
hardly  a  suitable  one  for  the  too  confident  assertion  of 
the  all-sufificiency  of  the  exact  sciences.  Weismann  has 
indeed  given  the  title  "  The  All-sufficiency  of  Natural 
Selection  "  to  one  of  his  essays,  but  in  another  of  his 
writings  occurs  a  figure  which  I  like  better.  In  con- 
trast to  the  common  opinion  which  likens  empirical 
knowledge  to  a  building  resting  on  sure  foundations 
and  rising  from  a  firm  basement  safely  to  the  high- 
est story,  he  says  of  the  exact  sciences :  "  They  all 
build  from  above,  and  not  one  of  them  has  found  a 
basement  yet — not  even  physics."  f  This  is  indeed 
true.  The  metaphysical  problems  do  not  float  above 
us  far  off  in  the  clouds  while  we  peacefully  do  our 
work  on  the  firm,  enduring  earth,  but  they  are  rather 
beneath  us,  and  our  clear  empirical  knowledge  rests 
on  their  mysterious  depths  like  the  sun-reflected  sails 
of  a  ship  on  dark  waves.  So  long  as  this  is  so,  man 
can  not  satisfy  himself  with  the  "  unknowable "  and 
the  "  ignorabimus "  of  positivism,  but  will  constantly 
seek  to  fathom  these  bafflingly  mysterious  depths  on 
which  he  is  borne  along.  In  this  book,  however,  no 
attempt  is  made  at  a  metaphysical  solution  of  instinct 

them  to  the  three  stages  of  individual  development — childhood, 
youth,  and  manhood.  Cours  de  philosophie  positive,  second  edi- 
tion, 1852,  vol.  i,  pp.  14,  17. 

*  F.  Brunetiere,  La  science  et  la  religion,  Paris,  1895. 

f  Die  Bedeutung  der  sexuellen  Fortpflanzung  fiir  die  Selec- 
tionstheorie,  Jena,  1886,  p.  60. 


32  THE   PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

or  any  other  problem.  Metaphysics,  or  the  first  sci- 
ence, as  its  original  name  signified,  should  rather  be 
called  the  last  science.  It  belongs  to  the  end  rather  than 
to  the  beginning  of  an  inquiry.  So  it  will  be  at  the  close 
of  my  book  on  human  play  that  I  shall  speak  of  the 
metaphysical  side  of  my  subject,  if  at  all.  For  surely 
whether  its  use  is  justifiable  or  not,  the  time  is  past  when 
it  could  be  appealed  to  as  a  means  of  approaching  a  sub- 
ject before  empirical  research  was  attempted.  The 
merely  metaphysical  grounding  of  phenomena  will  never 
again  suifice. 

As  a  result  of  this  empirical  tendency  we  see  a  strong 
opposition  to  the  transcendental-teleological  view  arise 
in  the  second  half  of  our  century.  It  assumes  the  form 
of  a  double  criticism,  a  negative  and  a  positive.  The 
one  wishes  to  eliminate  the  word  instinct  altogether 
wherever  possible.  The  other  gives  to  it  a  new  meaning, 
no  longer  involving  the  supernatural. 

The  repudiation  or  rejection  of  the  conception  of  in- 
stinct arises  from  the  fact  that  the  attempt  is  made  to 
explain  all  instinctive  acts  as  the  result  of  individually 
acquired  experience  and  reflection.  Of  the  many  who 
have  adopted  this  view,  I  notice  only  the  more  modern.* 

Turning  first  to  the  great  work  of  Alexander  Bain, 
The  Senses  and  the  Intellect,  we  find  there  a  long  chap- 
ter on  instinct,  but  in  it  no  mention  is  made  of  the 
actions  which  we  are  usually  accustomed  to  speak  of  as 
instinctive.  Only  reflex  movements,  such  as  heart  beats, 
breathing,  coughing,  sneezing,  gestures,  etc.,  are  referred 
to.    Bain's  view  of  real  instinct  is  first  developed  in  the 


*  For  older  scholars  holding  this  view,  see  Fr.  Kirehner,  Ueber 
die  Thierseele,  Halle,  1890,  and  L.  Biichner,  Aus  dem  Geistesleben 
der  Thiere,  third  edition,  Leipsic,  1880. 


PLAY  AND  INSTINCT.  33 

section  on  "  Associations  of  Volition/'  *  where  he  seeks 
to  show  that  such  instinctive  acts  are  acquired  by  in- 
dividuals rather  than  inherited.  In  his  companion  work, 
The  Emotions  and  the  Will,  he  teaches,  too,  that  hered- 
ity only  explains  the  simple  movements  that  can  be  at- 
tributed to  reflex  action.  The  development  of  these  to 
complicated  instinctive  acts,  he  says,  depends  on  the  in- 
dividual performance  of  the  animal.'.f 

Alfred  Eussel  "Wallace  was  formerly  another  op- 
ponent of  the  idea  of  instinct.  He  differed  from  Bain  in 
denying  to  the  word  its  application  to  even  simple  reflex 
action.  "  It  is  sometimes  absurdly  stated  that  the  new- 
born infant  ^  seeks  the  breast,'  and  this  is  held  to  be  a 
wonderful  proof  of  instinct.  No  doubt  it  would  be  if 
true,  but,  unfortunately  for  the  theory,  it  is  totally 
false,  as  every  nurse  and  medical  man  can  testify.  Still, 
the  child  undoubtedly  sucks  without  teaching,  but  this 
is  one  of  those  simple  acts  dependent  upon  organization 
which  can  not  properly  be  termed  instinct  any  more  than 
can  breathing  or  muscular  movement."  ij: 

Wallace  believed,  moreover,  as  Bain  does,  that  in- 
stinctive acts  must  be  learned  by  each  individual.  This 
appears  most  clearly  in  his  brilliant  essay  on  The  Phi- 
losophy of  Birds'  Nests.* 

*  A.  Bain,  The  Senses  and  the  Intellect,  third  edition,  London, 
1868,  p.  409. 

t  A.  Bain.  The  Emotions  and  the  Will,  third  edition,  London, 
1880,  p.  53.  Bain  records  observations  of  a  newborn  iamb  to  show- 
that  the  so-called  instinctive  capabilities  were  acquired  by  it.  But 
this  should  be  compared  with  Hudson's  notice  of  wild  sheep:  he 
often  saw  these  stand  on  their  feet  five  seconds  after  birth,  and 
when  one  minute  old  run  after  the  mother.  The  Naturalist  in  La 
Plata,  p.  109. 

X  A.  R.  Wallace,  Contributions  to  the  Theory  of  Natural  Selec- 
tion, p.  206.  *  Loc.  ciL,  p.  211  f. 


34  THE  PLAY  OP  ANIMALS. 

It  is  generally  asserted  that  birds  would  build  nests 
like  all  others  of  their  kind  even  if  they  had  never  seen 
them.  That  would  undeniably  be  instinctive.  "  This 
point,  although  so  important  to  the  question  at  issue,  is 
always  assumed  without  proof,  or  even  against  proof, 
for  the  known  facts  are  opposed  to  it.  Birds  brought 
up  from  the  egg  in  cages  do  not  make  the  character- 
istic nest  of  their  species,  even  though  the  proper  ma- 
terials are  supplied  them,  and  often  make  no  nest 
at  all,  but  rudely  heap  together  a  quantity  of  ma- 
terials." 

"  With  regard  to  the  song  of  birds,  moreover,  which 
is  thought  to  be  equally  instinctive,  the  experiment  has 
been  tried,  and  it  is  found  that  young  birds  never  have 
the  song  peculiar  to  their  species  if  they  have  not  heard 
it,  whereas  they  acquire  very  easily  the  song  of  almost 
any  other  bird  with  which  they  are  associated."  For 
AVallace,  such  cases  are  accounted  for  by  simple  imita- 
tion and  in  a  slight  degree  by  adaptation  of  the  indi- 
vidual to  new  conditions.f  However,  he  does  not  con- 
sider it  impossible  that  the  existence  of  pure  instinct 
may  be  proved  in  some  cases.  J 

Later,  Wallace  changed  his  view  entirely,  and  ad- 
mitted inherited  instinct.  "  Much  of  the  mystery  of 
instinct  arises  from  the  persistent  refusal  to  recognise 
the  agency  of  imitation,  memory,  observation,  and  rea- 
son as  often  forming  part  of  it ";  but  with  these  ele- 
ments depending  on  individual  effort,  he  recognises  the 
force  of  inheritance  as  one  of  the  actual  elements  of 

*  Loc.  cit,  p.  220.  This  shows  the  building  tendency  in  spite  of 
the  abnormal  conditions ! 

f  His  grounds  bring  to  mind  in  part  those  of  Condillac  and 
Leroy. 

X  Loc.  cit.,  p.  230. 


PLAY  AND  INSTINCT.  35 

instinct.    Indeed,  he  approaches  Weismann's  standpoint 
on  this  question,  as  I  do.* 

Tlie  discussion  took  on  a  more  polemic  form  in 
Germany.  Materiahsm  made  the  attack.  Carl  Vogt, 
in  the  last  chapter  of  his  Pictures  from  Animal  Life, 
speaks  contemptuously  of  "  so-called  instinct."  Brehm 
in  his  great  work  employs  all  the  eloquence  at  his  com- 
mand against  the  '^impossible  doctrine  of  so-called  in- 
stinct in  animals."  f  And  Biichner  follows  him  with 
an  exhaustive  discussion.  All  these  writers  agree  in 
attacking  first  the  theological  conception,  to  which  their 
materialistic  point  of  view  is,  of  course,  fundamentally 
opposed.  And  they  naively  assume  that  any  other  point 
of  view  is  out  of  the  question.  Thus  we  find  in  Biich- 
ner this  remarkable  definition:  "Men  have  fallen  into 
strange  ignorance  and  conceit  in  calling  the  unknow- 
able soul-expression  of  animals  instinct,  a  word  derived 
from  the  Latin  instinguere  (to  stimulate  or  incite),  and 
therefore  necessarily  implying  a  supernatural  stimulator 
or  inciter."  %  ^^T^en  the  materialists  become  acquainted 
with  Darwin^s  positive  criticism  of  the  old  instinct  idea, 
they  agree  indeed  with  it,  but,  passing  by  with  slight  no- 
tice his  theory,  they  were  not  disturbed  in  their  polemic 
against  the  "  unfortunate  word  instinct."  Biichner,  espe- 
cially, protests  in  several  of  his  works  sharply  and  per- 
sistently against  the  use  of  the  word.  He  dwells  on  its 
variability  of  signification  and  on  its  mistaken  employ- 
ment, and  considers  parental  teaching  and  individual  ex- 
perience and  reflection  the  true  sources  of  actions  usually 
called  instinctive.  He  points  out  after  careful  study 
that  "  the  most  of  what  was  formerly  ascribed  to  instinct 

*  A.  R.  Wallace,  Darwinism,  p.  442. 

f  Thierleben,  second  edition,  i,  p.  20. 

X  L.  Biichner,  Kraft  und  Stoff,  1883,  p.  471. 


36  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

may  be  explained  in  ways  altogether  different  and  more 
natural,  either  as  produced  by  genuine  reflection  and 
choice,  or  by  experience,  instruction,  and  information; 
or  by  practice  and  imitation;  or  by  a  particularly  good 
development  of  the  senses,  especially  of  smell;  or  by 
custom  and  organization;  or  by  reflex  action,  etc.  For 
example,  when  the  caterpillar  uses  the  fibre  which  Na- 
ture provides  for  building  its  nest,  for  hanging  itself 
from  a  tree  and  thus  eluding  the  pursuit  of  its  enemies; 
or  when  caterpillars  shut  up  in  a  drawer  eat  off  the  paper 
lining  and  use  it  for  making  a  cocoon;  or  when  toads 
persist  in  devouring  great  quantities  of  ants  which  taste 
good  but  which  they  can  not  digest,  although  they 
know  (?)  that  pain  and  illness  must  be  the  conse- 
quence; or  when  bees  passionately  consume  honey  mixed 
with  brandy,  which  maddens  and  unfits  them  for  work; 
w'hen  birds  build  their  nests  near  human  habitations 
for  the  purpose  of  using  material  such  as  thread  and 
woollen  scraps;  or  when,  according  to  the  observations 
of  G.  H.  Schneider,  certain  crustaceans  in  captivity 
use  bits  of  cloth  and  paper  to  hide  under  in  the  ab- 
sence of  weeds,  though  when  both  are  present  their 
choice  is  always  in  favour  of  the  vegetable  substance; 
or  when  bees,  presented  with  a  set  of  prepared  cells,  stop 
building  cells  and  carry  their  honey  to  the  finished  ones; 
or  when  birds  prefer  an  artificial  nest  box  or  an  appro- 
priated nest  to  the  product  of  their  own  skill;  or  when 
ants  seize  strange  nests  in  the  same  way  and  establish 
themselves  comfortably  there  instead  of  building  for 
themselves;  or  when  many  kinds  of  bees,  instead  of  col- 
lecting their  own  honey,  get  a  supply  by  robbing  other 
hives;  or  when  animals  imitate  the  voice  or  the  cries 
of  other  animals  happening  to  be  near  for  purposes  of 
defence  or  enticement — in  these  and  a  thousand  similar 


PLAY  AND  INSTINCT.  37 

cases  whose  enumeration  would  fill  a  whole  book,  instinct 
can  not  be  the  cause  or  the  occasion  of  a  single  one  of 
such  actions."  * 

The  wealth  of  examples  with  which  the  author  clev- 
erly overwhelms  us  might  be  convincing  to  an  uncritical 
reader.  In  truth,  however,  Buchner  combats  only  the 
most  extreme  conception  of  instinct,  that  is  hardly  to  be 
"taken  seriously  in  our  day;  just  as  in  his  antagonism 
to  theology  and  metaphysics  he  attacks  with  his  ma- 
terialistic weapons  only  the  extremest  orthodoxy  and  the 
most  abstruse  speculation,  but  in  such  a  manner  that 
an  unlearned  reader  might  well  get  the  impression 
that  theology  and  metaphysics  generally  had  received 
their  death  blow.  What  Biichner  refutes  is  the  idea 
of  a  direct  and  miraculous  imparting  by  God  to  the  ani- 
Inals  of  absolutely  inflexible  and  inerrant  instincts.  It 
is*"surely  possible  to  reject  this  view  and  yet  believe  in 
an  instinct  which  acts  under  normal  conditions  suitably 
to  ends,  as  inborn  capacity  in  man  and  beast,  without 
individual  experience  and  without  a  knowledge  of  the 
end,  but  which  may  vary  under  different  circumstances, 
and  become  in  abnormal  cases  so  unsuited  to  the  sup- 
posed end  that  it  may  be  said  to  "  err."  Moreover, 
Biichner  and  the  other  opponents  of  instinct  can  by 
no  means  claim  that  their  idea  is  altogether  contrary 
to  the  pre-Darwinian  view,  for  the  extreme  instinct 
theory  briefly  outlined  above  was  not  by  any  means  uni- 
versally held  even  before  Darwin.  Thus  Eeimarus,  who 
has  been  quoted  already,  and  who  was  easily  the  most 
influential  animal  psychologist  of  his  time,  his  Gen- 
eral  Observations  on  the  Impulses   of  Animals  pass- 

*  L.  Buchner,  Aus  dem  Geistesleben  der  Thiere,  third  edition, 
Leipsic,  1880,  p.  16. 


38  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

ing  through  many  editions  and  being  translated  into 
French  and  Dutch— in  this  work  (§98)  Reimarus  says: 
''  The  mechanical  instincts  of  animals  are  not  so  fixed 
in  every  point  that  the  creature  is  not  left  the  power 
to  modify  them  according  to  circumstances  and  the 
extent  of  his  own  knowledge."  *  And  the  first  sen- 
tence of  §  101  runs  thus:  "Animals  may  sometimes  err 
in  their  impulses,  though  this  seldom  happens  when 
they  are  entirely  left  to  themselves." 

The  denial  of  inherited  instinct  can  in  no  wise  be 
regarded  as  established.  Eeimarus  himself  has  contro- 
verted, on  grounds  which  in  essentials  are  not  yet  ob- 
solete, those  who  regard  instinct  as  an  empty  or  mean- 
ingless word.f  For  example,  he  says  in  §93:  "Many 
mechanical  instincts  are  practised  from  birth  without 
experience,  instruction,  or  example,  and  yet  faultlessly. 
They  are  thus  seen  to  be  certainly  inborn  and  inherited. 
.  .  .  This  is  the  case  with  all  insect  grubs  that  envelop 
themselves  with  a  spun  web,  such  as  wasps  and  many 
caterpillars,  bees,  and  ants.  How  can  a  worm  that  has 
lived  scarcely  a  day,  and  that  shut  up  in  the  dark 
ground  or  a  little  shell,  possibly  have  acquired  of  itself 
such  skill  from  experience  or  from  lessons  and  examples? 


*  See  the  fra^i^mentary  posthumous  publication,  H.  S.  Reima- 
rus's  Angefauf^ene  Betrachtungen  iiber  die  besonderen  Arten  der 
thierischen  Kunsttriebe,  Hamburg,  1773,  introduction. 

f  I  fully  agree  with  A.  Kussmaul  in  what  he  says  of  the  "splen- 
did work  "  of  Reimarus,  *'  which  will  stand  for  all  time  as  a  model 
for  critical  investigators  in  this  subject "  (Unters.  liber  d.  Seelen- 
leben  des  neugeborenen  Menschen,  Leipsic,  1850,  p.  5).  The  book 
of  G.  F.  Meier  (Versuch  eines  neuen  Lehrgebaudes  von  den  Seelen 
der  Thiere,  Halle,  1749)  is  also  celebrated,  but  can  not  be  compared 
with  Reimarus'  work,  seeing  that,  excepting  some  observations  on 
ants,  it  contains  essentially  only  the  typical  "  logical  reasoning  o£ 
the  EnlightenmenL" 


PLAY  AND  INSTINCT.  39 

The  same  question  may  be  asked  about  the  animals  that 
are  hatched  out  by  the  sun  on  the  sand,  and  as  soon  as 
they  creep  out  of  the  egg  hurry  to  the  water  without 
being  shown  the  way;  of  the  young  duck,  too,  that  in 
spite  of  the  cries  of  the  clucking  hen  betakes  itself  to 
the  strange  element.  We  have  incontrovertible  proof  also 
that  the  mechanical  impulses  are  innate  and  inherited 
in  animals  that  are  taken  living  from  the   mother's 
womb,  and  so  could  not  by  any  possibility  have  seen  any 
others  or  have  learned  to  act  as  they  do.     The  cele^ 
brated  Swammerdam  has  made  such  an  experiment  with 
the  water  snail,  which  is  born  alive.     He  took  a  little 
one  just  ready  for  birth  and  placed  it  in  water,  where 
it  immediately  began  to  move  about  quite  as  well  as 
the  mother  could.    And  this  implies  groat  skill,  for,  in 
order  to  sink,  these  snails  retire  into  the  shell  and  com- 
press the  air  contained  in  the  end-chambers,  thus  becom- 
ing heavier  than  the  water.     To  rise,  they  come  out  a 
little,  causing  the  inclosed  air  and  their  own  body  to 
occupy  more  space  and  so  become  Ughter  than  the  water. 
For  surface  swimming  they  turn  over  so  that  the  shell 
is  like  a  boat,  the  feet  are  extended  on  both  sides,  and  an 
undulating  movement  like  that  of  the  land  snail  sends  it 
slowly  over  the  water.     This  skill  and  readiness  in  move- 
ment the  snail  cut  from  its  mother's  body  has  certainly 
not  learned  nor  practised,  but  brought  already  developed 
into  the  world."    I  may  here  point  out  that  Keimarus 
very  rightly  emphasizes  the  difficulty  of  learning  an 
entirely  new  kind  of  movement.    If,  for  example,  suck- 
ing the  breast   "were  not  innate   skill,   so   to   speak, 
there  is  no  reason  why  grown  people  should  not  do 
it  as  well  as  children,  particularly  as  they  are  prac- 
tised in  various  movements  of  the  mouth,  and  even 
in  sucking  at  other  soft  tubes.     But,  speaking  for  my- 
5 


40  THE  PLAY  OF  AXIMALS. 

self  at  least,  I  must  own  that  I  can  no  longer  do  it  "  * 
(§  138). 

It  would  hardly  be  necessary  to  cite  further  exam- 
ples of  inherited  instinct  f  if  the  principle  involved  were 
not  so  vital  to  my  purpose.  As  this  is  so,  I  give  the  views 
of  two  modern  philosophers  Avho  both  defend  the  idea 
of  instinct,  though  from  very  different  standpoints  and 
without  being  in  any  special  sense  Darwinians. 

E.  von  Hartmann  gives  the  following  among  a  great 
many  other  examples:  "  Caterpillars  of  the  Saturnia 
pavonia  minor  eat  the  leaves  of  a  shrub  as  soon  as  they 
emerge  from  the  egg,  go  underneath  the  leaves  when  it 
rains,  and  change  their  skin  from  time  to  time;  this  is 
their  whole  existence,  and  in  it  not  the  least  evidence 
of  intelligence  can  be  found.  But  the  time  comes  for 
spinning  their  cocoon,  and  they  build  it  firm  and  strong, 
with  a  double  arch  formed  by  gathering  the  fibres  to- 
gether at  the  top,  so  that  they  are  very  easy  to  open 
from  the  inside,  but  offer  considerable  resistance  to  any 
external  force.  Were  this  arrangement  the  result  of 
conscious  intelligence,  a  chain  of  reasoning  something 
like  this  would  be  necessary:  ^I  am  now  approaching 
a  chrysalis  state,  and,  immovable  as  I  am,  I  shall  be 
exposed  to  attack;  therefore  I  will  inclose  myself  in  a 
cocoon.  Since  I  shall  not  be  in  a  condition  as  a  butter- 
fly to  effect  an  exit  either  through  mechanical  or  through 
chemical  means,  as  many  other  caterpillars  do,  I  must 
therefore  provide  an  opening.     But  at  the  same  time, 

*  It  may  be  mentioned  that  even  the  sceptic  David  II nine  called 
instinct  a  primary  gift  of  Nature,  a  degree  of  capability  that  ordi- 
narily surpasses  the  animal's  powers  and  can  not  be  much  bettered 
by  the  longest  practice  or  use.  An  Inquiry  concerning  the  Human 
Understanding,  p.  99. 

f  See  also  A.  and  K.  Mliller,  Wohnungen,  Leben  und  Eigeu- 
thiimlichkeit  in  der  hoheren  Thierwelt,  p.  8  f. 


PLAY  AND  INSTINCT.  41 

that  this  opening  may  not  be  used  by  my  enemies,  I  must 
use  such  an  arrangement  of  the  fibrous  web  as  will 
allow  me  to  push  out  but  will  yet  offer  resistance  to  out- 
side pressure,  according  to  the  principle  of  the  arch/ 
This  does  seem  too  much  to  expect  from  the  poor  httle 
caterpillar."  * 

Wundt  cites  the  same  example,  originally  suggested 
by  Autenrieth,t  as  especially  significant,  and  says,  more- 
over: "  If  it  were  actually  through  a  capacity  for  adapt- 
ing means  to  an  end  that  the  bird  produces  its  nest, 
the  spider  its  web,  and  the  bee  its  cell  structure,  a  degree 
of  intelligence  would  be  required  that  man  himself,  in 
the  course  of  a  mere  individual  Hfe,  would  hardly  be 
capable  of.     A  further  proof  of  the  fallacy  of  such  an 
explanation  is  the  regularity  with  which  certain  actions 
are  performed  by  individuals  of  the  same  species  where 
there  is  not  always  any  association  between  them.    Such 
association,   of  course,  exists  among  the  bee  and  ant 
tribes  and  among  those  animals  whose  young  remain 
for  some  time  after  birth  with  their  parents,  but  in 
numerous  other  cases  the  little  creature  begins  its  Ufe 
independently.    When  the  caterpillar  creeps  out  of  the 
egg  its  parents  are  long  since  dead,  yet  it  prepares  a 
cocoon  like  theirs.     x\nd,  finally,  there  are  many  cases 
where  the  instinct-acts  that  seem  to  be  intelligent  appear 
to  include  a  direct  foresight  of  the  future.    How  can  this 
foresight  possibly  be  intelligent  when  there  has  never 
been  analogous  experience  in  the  individual's  life?    Nor 
has  it  received  information  in  any  way.    When  the  moth 
incloses  its  eggs  in  a  furry  covering  made  of  its  own  hair, 
the  winter,  which  makes  this  warm  wrapping  necessary 

*  E.  von  Hartmann.  Philosophie  dcs  Unbewussten,  i.  p.  79. 
f  J.  H.  F.  Autcnrieth,  Ansichten  uber  Natur-  uud  Scelenleben, 
1836,  p.  171, 


42  THE   PLAY   OF   ANIMALS. 

for  tlie  j^reservation  of  the  egg,  has  not  yet  come.  The 
caterpillar  has  never  exj)erienced  the  metamorphosis  for 
which  it  prepares,"  ^ 

I  conclude  with  a  few  examples  from  the  numerous 
witnesses  among  modern  scientists.  "  The  instinct  for 
flight  to  warmer  lands/^  says  Xaumann^f  "  is  born  in 
migratory  birds.  Young  ones  taken  from  the  nest  and 
allowed  to  fly  about  freely  in  a  large  room  sufficiently 
prove  this.  They  circle  about  their  prison  at  night, 
during  their  time  of  migration,  just  as  the  old  birds  do 
in  confinement."  Douglas  Spalding  experimented:!:  as 
Swammerdam  also  did.  He  took  little  chicks  from  the 
egg,  put  caps  on  them  that  covered  the  eyes  until  they 
were  two  days  old.  "When  these  were  removed  one  of 
them  at  once  followed  with  its  eyes  and  head  a  fly  some 
twelve  inches  away.  A  few  minutes  later  it  picked  at  its 
own  toes,  and  in  the  next  moment  sprang  vigorously 
after  a  fly  and  devoured  it.  It  ran  at  once,  with  evident 
assurance,  to  a  hen  brought  near,  and  seemed  to  need  no 
experience  or  association  in  all  this  to  enable  it  to  go 
over  or  around  impediments,  for  these  were  its  first  les- 
sons in  life.  Spalding  has  also  shown  experimentally 
that  young  swallows  can  fly  without  teaching  as  soon 
as  they  reach  the  proper  age.  Further  he  relates:  "  One 
day,  after  I  had  been  stroking  my  dog,  I  reached  my 
hand  into  a  basket  which  held  four  blind  kittens  three 
days  old.  The  smell  of  my  hand  made  them  spit  and 
hiss  in  a  ridiculous  way."  *    Eomanes  succeeded  in  mak- 

*  It  may  be  noted  here  that  Lotze,  too.  liolds  the  hypothesis  of 
instinct  as  indispensable.     See  his  larf^er  Metaphysik,  p.  299. 

f  J.  A.  Xaumann,  Naturgeschichte  der  Yr)g-el  Deutschlands,  i, 
p.  86. 

X  ^lacmillan's  "Maijazine,  February.  1873. 

*  See  Wesley  Mills,  The  Psychic  Development  of  Young-  Ani- 


PLAY  AXD  INSTINCT.  43 

ing  a  quite  similar  experiment  with  young  rabbits  and 
ferrets.*  Hudson  once  found  some  eggs  of  the  Parr  a 
jacana.  "\Yhile  I  was  looking  closely  at  one  of  the 
eggs/'  says  he,  "  lying  on  the  palm  of  my  hand,  all  at 
once  the  cracked  shell  parted,  and  the  young  bird  quick- 
ly leaped  from  my  hand  and  fell  into  the  water.  I  am 
Cjuite  sure  that  its  sudden  escape  from  the  shell  and 
from  my  hand  was  the  result  of  a  violent  effort  on  its 
part  to  free  itself,  and  it  was  doubtless  stimulated  to 
make  the  effort  by  the  loud,  persistent  screaming  of  the 
parent  birds,  which  it  heard  while  in  the  shell.  Stoop- 
ing to  pick  it  up  to  save  it  from  perishing,  I  soon  saw 
that  my  assistance  was  not  required,  for  immediately  on 
dropping  into  the  water  it  put  out  its  neck  and  with  the 
body  nearly  submerged,  like  a  wounded  duck  trjdng  to 
escape  observation,  it  swam  rapidly  across,  and,  escaping 
from  the  water,  concealed  itself  in  the  grass,  lying  close 
and  perfectly  motionless  like  a  young  plover."  f 

AVeinland  reports  of  the  snapping  turtle:  "For 
months  these  turtles  emerge  daily  from  eggs  laid  in  the 
sand  and  moss,  and  it  is  noteworthy  that  the  first  move- 
ments of  the  little  heads  thrust  out  of  the  broken  shell 
are  those  of  snapping  and  biting."  'ij: 

_Pre3'er  and  Binet  are  firmly  convinced  that  instinct 
is  the  source  of  the  child's  first  attempts  to  walk.  Ac- 
cording to  Binet's  observations,  children  only  a  few 
weeks  old  really  take  measured  steps  when  held  up  so 
that  the  soles  of  their  feet  rest  on  the  floor.*    In  short, 

Trials,  1895,  iv  and  vi,  where  Spalding's  investiiration  is  referred  to 
as  "somewhat  overdone,  though  reliable  in  the  main." 

*  G.  J.  Romanes,  Mental  Evolution  in  Animals,  p.  164f.  See 
also  Hudson's  Naturalist  in  La  Plata,  chap,  vi,  p.  89. 

t  The  Naturalist  in  La  Plata,  p.  112. 

X  From  Brehm's  Thierleben,  second  edition,  vii,  p.  G4. 

*  A.  Binet,  Recherches  sur  les  raouveraents  quelques  jeunes 


4A  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

James  is  perfectly  right  when  he  says  that  the  sitting 
hen,  for  example,  needs  no  further  experience  or  psychic 
process  than  the  feeling  that  the  egg  is  just  "  the-never- 
to-be-too-much-sat-upon  object.'^  * 

From  all  this  it  appears  that  there  is  no  doubt  that 
inherited  instincts  exist,  and  that  a  positive  rather  than 
a  negative  criticism  will  be  needed  in  dealing  with  this 
idea,  which,  indeed,  is  much  easier  to  affirm  than  to  ex- 
plain. We  at  once  reach  the  conclusion,  however,  that  it 
is  necessary  to  eliminate  from  the  definition  of  instinct 
the  transcendental-teleological  method  of  conceiving  it 
— a  task  which  has  been  attempted  by  the  promulgators 
of  the  Lamarck-Darwinian  theory.  "  An  important  rea- 
son for  the  slow  advance  of  scientific  knowledge  is  the 
universal  and  almost  unconquerable  adherence  to  teleo- 
logical  conceptions,  which  are  substituted  for  distinctly 
scientific  ones.  Nature  may  afi'ect  us  ever  so  impressively 
and  ever  so  variously,  but  it  is  all  lost  upon  us  because  we 
look  for  nothing  in  her  manifestations  that  we  have  not 
already  read  into  them;  because  we  will  not  permit  her 
to  make  the  advances,  but  are  always  trying  with  impa- 
tient, ambitious  reasoning  to  approach  her.  Then,  w^hen 
in  the  course  of  centuries  there  comes  one  who  draws 
near  to  her  with  a  quiet,  modest,  and  receptive  mind, 
and  lights  upon  innumerable  phenomena  which  we,  by 
our  preoccupation,  have  overlooked,  we  are  amazed  in- 
deed that  so  many  eyes  should  not  have  seen  them  be- 
fore in  such  clear  light.  This  striving  with  unnecessary 
haste  after  harmony  before  the  various  tones  w^hich 
should    compose   it    have   been    collected,    this    violent 

enfants.  [See  also  the  experiments  of  Baklwin,  Mental  Develop- 
ment in  the  Child  and  the  Race,  second  edition,  chap,  v,  §  1.] 

*  W.  James,  The  Principles  of  Psychology,  London,  1891,  vol. 
ii,  p.  387. 


PLAY  AND  IXSTIXCT.  45 

usurpation  by  the  intellectual  jDowers  of  a  realm  where 
they  have  not  undisputed  sway,  explain  the  unfruitful- 
ness  of  so  many  thinkers  for  the  advancement  of  science. 
It  is  difficult  to  say  whether  mere  sentiment,  which 
assumes  no  definite  form,  or  much  reasoning  tending  to 
no  purport,  has  interfered  more  with  our  progress  in 
knowledge/'  But  who  has  written  this  masterly  indict- 
ment of  modern  science?  I  fancy  that  one  would  not 
easily  detect  the  author,  did  not  certain  artistic  expres- 
sions betray  him,  and  withal  the  perfect  style  which  is  as 
brilliant  and  as  penetrating  as  a  good  sword.* 

Lamarck  published  his  theory  of  development  in 
1801,  and  extended  it  in  the  Philosophic  zoologique, 
which  appeared  in  1809,  as  well  as  in  the  introduction 
to  his  work  on  the  Histoire  naturelle  des  animaux  sans 
vertebres.  As  the  fundamental  principle  of  his  theory, 
he  lays  down  the  inheritance  of  acquired  characters  by 
individuals  (especially  functional  adaptations).  Dar- 
win included  this  principle  in  his  theory  advanced  in 
1859,  but  perfected  it  by  his  more  important  and  com- 
prehensive conception  of  natural  selection.  According 
to  it,  not  only  functional  adaptations,  but  also  the  in- 
heritance of  congenital  characters  produce  changes  in 
species,  so  that  in  each  generation  congenital  "  indi- 
vidual variations  "  appear  of  which  the  '^  fittest  "  always 
come  out  best  in  the  struggle  for  existence,  and  are 
thus  transmitted  further  (Spencer,  Survival  of  the  Fit- 
test). In  the  whole  organic  world  this  principle  rules, 
adapting  means  to  ends  without  there  being  any  end — 
that  is,  any  conscious  or  voluntary  end.  The  transcen- 
dental-teleological  principle   is  thus  excluded,     "  The 

*  Rchillor,  Ueber  die  iisthetische  Erziehung  des  Menschen,  thir- 
teenth letter. 


46  THE   PLAY   OF  ANIMALS. 

useful  becomes  the  necessary  as  soon  as  it  comes  to  be 
possible."  * 

Darwin  himself  attached  greater  importance  to  con- 
genital qualities  than  to  the  inheritance  of  acquired  ones, 
as  clearly  appears  in  his  definition  of  instinct.  He  says 
in  his  Origin  of  Species:  "It  would  be  the  most  serious 
mistake  to  suppose  that  the  greater  number  of  instincts 
have  been  acquired  by  habit  in  one  generation,  and  then 
transmitted  by  inheritance  to  successive  generations.  It 
can  be  clearly  shown  that  the  most  wonderful  instincts 
with  which  we  are  acquainted — namely,  those  of  the 
hive-bee  and  of  many  ants — could  not  possibly  have  been 
thus  acquired."  And  in  the  Descent  of  Man:  "  Some 
intelligent  actions — as  when  birds  on  oceanic  islands 
first  learn  to  avoid  man — after  being  performed  during 
many  generations  become  converted  into  instincts,  and 
are  inherited.  .  .  .  But  the  greater  number  of  the  more 
complex  instincts  appear  to  have  been  gained  in  a  wholly 
different  manner  through  the  natural  selection  of  varia- 
tions of  simpler  instinctive  actions."  f 

We  see,  then,  that  Darwin  derives  instinct  from  two 
distinct  sources.  The  principal  source  is  natural  selec- 
tion; the  less  important  is  the  inheritance  of  intellec- 
tual capacity  and  then  of  acquired  characters.  Eo- 
manes  follows  him  closely  in  his  distinction  between 

*  A.  Weismann,  Amphimixis,  Jena,  1891,  p.  159.  [The  anfhor 
here  includes  a  quotation  from  Kant's  Physische  Geo.ijrraphie  (TT. 
Th.,  Abs.  i,  §  3)  showing  that  that  philosopher  had  the  idea  of  pro- 
gressive development  resulting  from  artificial  selection,  which  in 
Darwin's  mind  led  to  the  doctrine  of  Natural  Selection.  He  refers 
also  to  Fischer's  Geschichte  d.  neu.  Philos.,  third  edition,  iii,  p. 
161.] 

■f  The  Descent  of  Man,  chap,  ii.  See  also  a  similar  passage 
from  Darwin's  manuscript  in  Romanes's  Mental  Evolution  in  Ani- 
mals, p.  209. 


PLAY  AND  INSTINCT.  47 

primary  and  secondary  instinct.  He  says:  "I  shall 
allude  to  instincts  which  arise  hy  way  of  natural  selec- 
tion, without  the  intervention  of  intelligence,  as  primary 
instincts,  and  to  those  which  are  formed  by  the  lapsing 
of  intelligence  as  secondary  instincts."  * 

Eomanes  in  turn  has  influenced  some  other  animal 
psychologists.  Thus  Foveau  de  Courmelles  says,  in  elab- 
orating Eomanes'  distinction:  "  The  primary  instincts 
consist  of  non-intelligent  habits  devoid  of  adaptability, 
transmissible  by  heredity,  themselves  subject  to  variation 
and  liable  to  become  fixed.  Secondary  instincts  are  in- 
telligent adaptations  that  have  become  automatic  and 
hereditary."  f  And  Lloyd  Morgan,  who  refers  to 
Romanes's  treatment  of  the  instinct  idea  as  most  mas- 
terly and  admirable,  likewise  adopts  the  division  into 
primary  and  secondary  instincts,  but,  owing  to  the  in- 
fluence of  Weismann  and  Galton,  is  very  cautious  about 
approaching  the  subject  of  the  inheritance  of  acquired 
characters,  and,  consequently,  that  of  secondary  in- 
stincts. He  accordingly  attributes  to  these  principles 
only  a  probable  value.  :j: 

The  great  majority  of  modern  animal  psychologists, 
however,  explain  instinct  by  the  Lamarckian  principle 
of  the  inheritance  of  acquired  characters  alone,  or  almost 
alone.  Their  conception  of  instinct  is  something  like 
this:  Darwin  had  already  pointed  out  its  analogy  to  acts 

*  Mental  Evolution  in  Animals,  chap.  xii.  I  am  well  awn  re 
that  the  distinctions  between  "inherited"  and  "acquired,"  "pri- 
mary "  and  "  secondary,"  instincts  are  not  exactly  the  same,  but 
I  can  not  go  into  these  finer  points  here. 

f  Les  facultes  mentales  des  animaux,  Paris.  1890,  p.  55. 

X  Animal  Life  and  Intelligence,  p.  433.  [The  reader  should 
turn  to  Lloyd  Morgan's  later  work.  Habit  and  Instinct,  in  which 
he  gives  up  the  "  inheritance  of  acquired  characters  "  altogether.] 


48  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

in  individual  life  which  have  become  reflex  through 
practice  and  repetition;  the  piano  player  reaches  for  the 
right  key  '^  mechanically/^  intuitively,  though  at  first 
he  could  make  the  same  movement  only  under  the  con- 
trol of  conscious  will.  In  just  the  same  way  inherited 
instinct  depends  on  a  "  lapsing  of  intelligence  "  (Lewes), 
but  instead  of  being  accomplished  in  a  single  life,  it  pro- 
gresses in  such  a  manner  that  the  conscious  practice 
of  earlier  generations  becomes  the  reflex  activity  of 
later  ones."^  This  is  what  is  meant  by  the  common  desig- 
nation of  instinct  as  inherited  habit  or  hereditary  mem- 
ory. I  cite  only  a  few  examples:  Preyer  and  Eimer  use 
these  expressions  in  defining  instinct,  and  L.  Wilser  calls 
it  hereditary  skill  or  aptitude,  f  Wundt  says,  "  Move- 
ments that  originally  appeared  as  simple  or  compound 
acts  of  the  will,  but  later,  either  in  the  life  of  the  indi- 
vidual or  in  the  progress  of  race  development,  have  be- 
come partially  or  entirely  mechanical,  we  call  instinctive 
acts."  X  Th.  Eibot,*  with  Lewes,  calls  instinct  "  con- 
science eteinte/'  and  Schneider  refers  what  he  recognises 
as  hereditary  in  instinctive  acts  to  the  practice  and  habit 
of  ancestors.  ||  Thus  he  explains  our  instinctive  fear  in 
the   dark   as  the   inheritance   of   acquired   association: 


*  This  interesting  passage  is  from  Leroy :  "  What  we  regard  as 
entirely  mechanical  in  animals  may  be  ancient  habit  perpetuated 
from  generation  to  generation."  Lettres  philosophiques  sur  I'in- 
telligence  et  la  perfectibilite  des  animaux,  new  edition,  Paris,  1802, 
p.  107. 

f  W.  Preyer,  Die  Seele  des  Kindes,  Leipsie,  1890,  p.  186.  Eimer, 
Entstehung  der  Arten,  i,  p.  240.  L.  Wilser,  Die  Vererbung  der 
geistiiren  Eigenschaften,  Heidelberg,  p.  9. 

X  W.  Wundt,  Vorlesungen  fiber  die  Menschen-  und  Thierseele, 
second  edition.  1892,  p.  422.     [Eng.  trans.,  p.  388.] 

#  L'Heredite  psychologique,  fifth  edition,  p.  19. 

II  G.  H.  Schneider,  Der  thierische  Wille,  Leipsie,  1880,  p.  14G. 


PLAY   AND  INSTINCT.  49 

"  Not  only  our  savage  ancestors  but  even  those  of  later 
times  who  have  not  had  the  good  fortune  to  live,  as  we 
of  the  present  do,  in  circumstances  rendered  secure  by 
orderly  government,  could  not  undertake  the  slightest 
journey,  especially  by  night,  with  the  carelessness  with 
which  we  now  in  middle  Europe  tramp  through  the 
loneliest  mountain  pass  or  traverse  the  densest  woods 
by  day  or  night.  They  had  much  to  fear  from  wild  ani- 
mals, especially  bears,  and  from  men,  such  as  highway- 
men and  the  famous  robber  knights,  and  in  lonely  woods 
and  passes  were  never  safe.  Moreover,  the  feeling  of 
fear  which  besets  the  young,  especially  when  travelling 
alone  on  a  dark  night  in  a  lonely  wood  or  valley,  is  so 
universal  that  we  are  forced  to  connect  it  with  the  com- 
mon experience  of  earlier  generations,  and  consider  it 
an  inherited  feeling."  * 

If  this  reference  of  instinct  to  the  inheritance 
of  acquired  characters  which  we  find  is  so  general  be 
correct,  play  can  be  explained  about  as  follows:  Our 
ancestors  have  throughout  their  whole  lives  made  use  of 
their  arms  and  legs  for  ever}^  possible  movement;  ac- 
cordingly, their  descendants  have  in  their  earliest  in- 
fancy the  impulse  to  kick  with  the  legs  and  to  grasp 
everything  in  their  hands.  The  forbears  hunted  ani- 
mals; hence  the  hunt  and  chase  games  of  the  descend- 
ants. Our  ancestors  were  obliged  to  hide  from  their 
enemies  in  a  thousand  ways;  hence  the  hiding  games  of 
children.  Thus  Schneider  says:  "  The  boy  does  not 
now  eat  the  sparrows,  beetles,  flies,  and  other  insects 
that  he  eagerly  seizes  and  perhaps  tears  to  pieces,  nor 
does  he  intend  to  devour  the  young  birds  that  he  takes 
from  their  nests  in  high  trees,  often  at  the  peril  of  his 

*  G.  H.  Schneider,  Der  menschliche  Wille,  Berlin,  1882,  p.  68. 


50  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

life;  but  merely  seeing  these  things  wakes  in  him  a 
strong  impulse  to  plunder,  hunt,  and  kill,  apparently 
because  his  savage  ancestors  commonly  gained  their 
subsistence  by  such  means.  There  is  in  him  an  in- 
timate causal  connection  between  the  sight  of  cer- 
tain free  animals,  or  birds'  eggs,  and  the  impulse  to 
plunder,  slay,  and  rend.  That  this  was  the  case 
with  our  animal  ancestors  we  are  convinced  from 
the  life  of  modern  apes,  which  is  sustained  principal- 
ly by  means  of  spoil  taken  from  smaller  animals,  espe- 
cially insects,  young  birds,  and  birds'  eggs."  *  "  Girls, 
as  well  as  boys,  show  in  their  play  unmistakable  signs 
of  having  inherited  the  characteristic  habits  of  the 
race."t  Thus  play  becomes  the  result  of  intelligent 
activity  of  preceding  generations,  a  form  of  heredi- 
tary skill. 

In  the  last  decade,  however,  the  general  conception 
of  instinct  has  undergone  an  essential  transformation 
through  x^ugust  Weismann's  neo-Darwinism.  I  can 
not  here,  of  course,  go  thoroughly  into  the  highly  com- 
plex grounds  of  this  theory  of  heredity. ij:  Weismann 
postulates  an  hereditary  substance  carried  on  continu- 
ously through  succeeding  generations,  the  germ  plasm 
(Keimplasma  ^)  which  is  present  in  the  so-called  chro- 
mosomes, or  colourless  bodies  of  different  shapes  inside 
the  cell  nuclei  ("  chromatin  bodies "  or  "  chromatin 
nuclei  ").  He  not  only  asserts  in  a  general  way  that  this 
substance  inside  the  germ  cells  must  have  an  exceedingly 

*  Der  menschliche  Wille,  p.  62. 
t  Ibid.,  p.  32. 

t  See  especially  Die  Continiiitat  des  Kei  in  pi  asm  as.  Jena,  1885. 
Amphimixis  oder  die  Vermischung  der  Individuen,  Jena,  1891. 
Das  Keimplasma,  Jena.  1892. 

*  Keimplasma,  p.  33. 


PLAY  AND  INSTINCT.  51 

complicated  structure  ^  historically  handed  down,  which, 
indeed,  is  undeniably  the  case,  but  in  a  more  daring 
hypothesis  he  attempts  to  establish  the  essential  elements 
of  this  structure:  the  molecules  of  germ  plasm  go  in 
various  w^ays  to  form  Biophores,  which  determine  the 
cell  qualities;  f  these  in  turn  form  Determinants,:]:  which 
again  find  their  higher  unity  in  the  Ide;  ^  these,  again, 
are  grouped  in  the  Idant,||  which  is  identical  with  the 
chromosome. 

But  this  world  of  minute  elements  represented  by 
the  germ  cells  is,  as  I  said  before,  continuous — ^that  is, 
it  is  not  produced  anew  in  each  individual,  but  persists 
with  great  stability  throughout  the  countless  successions 
of  related  life  forms,  building  up  organisms  but  never 
exhausted  in  the  process,  and  not  influenced  by  indi- 
vidual experience  or  by  heredity.  It  may  be  figured  as 
a  creeping  root,  stretching  far  from  the  parent  stock; 
single  plants  rise  from  it  at  different  points,  represented 
by  the  individuals  of  successive  generations.^  If,  then, 
a  material  so  constituted  is  the  only  medium  for  the 
operation  of  heredity,  there  can  be  no  transmission  of 
acquired  characters.  ^ 

Weismann's  theory  taken  as  a  whole  is  far  from  uni-  \ 
versally  recognised  as  established.     It  has  a  great  num- 
ber of  opponents,  of  whom  I  mention  only  Haeckel,^  ' 

*  Keimplasma,  p.  82. 
+  Ibid.,  p.  53. 

t  Ibid.,  p.  76. 

*  Earlier  called  "  Ahnenplasma"  by  Weisrnami,  ibid.,  p.  84. 
II  Ibid.,  p.  90. 

^  A.  Weisraann,  Die  Bedeutiiug  der  sexuellen  Fortpflanzung 
fur  die  Selectionstheorie,  Jena,  1886,  p.  20. 

^  Haeckel,  Natiirlicho  Schopfiine:so:eschicht.e,  1889,  p.  198.  An- 
thropogenie  oder  Entwickelungsgeschichte  des  Menschen,  1891, 
preface. 


52  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

Eimer,*  Wilser^f  Hertwig^  Eomanes,**  Herbert  Spen- 
cer,! |  Wundt,^  Siilly^O  and  Eibot.1;  The  truth  is,  it  is 
not  yet  given  to  ns  entirely  complete,  for  almost  every 
work  of  the  gifted  author  yet  published  shows  some 
modification  more  or  less  important.:!;  The  weightiest 
point  to  be  determined  before  the  theory  can  be  further 
developed  is  that  of  the  relation  of  the  individual  to  the 
hereditary  substance  or  of  the  soma  to  the  germ  plasm. 
Does  this  germ  plasm  pervade  the  endless  series  of  in- 
dividuals with  absolute  continuity,  changing  only 
through  its  combination  with  that  of  other  individuals 
(amphimixis)?  Weismann  formerly  appeared  to  attrib- 
ute absolute  persistence  to  the  germ  plasm;  indeed, 
he  has,  in  one  instance  at  least,  emphasized  this  doctrine. 
Yet  in  1886  he  admitted  that  monads  that  are  propa- 
gated by  mere  division  may  inherit  acquired  characters.  J 
In  1891  he  limits  this  possibility  to  unicellular  structures 
without  a  nucleus.**  In  other  directions,  however, he  has 

*  Th.  Eimer,  Die  Eiitstehung  der  Arten  aiif  Grund  von  Verer- 
ben  erworbener  Eigensehaften  nach  den  Gesetzen  organischen 
Wachsens,  1888. 

f  L.  Wilser,  Die  Vererbung  der  geistigen  Eigenschaften,  1892. 
X  O.  Hertwig.  Zeit-  und  Streitfragen  der  Biologic,  vol.  i.     Pra- 
formation  oder  Epigenese?,  1894. 

*  G.  J.  Romanes,  Critical  Examination  of  Weismannism. 

II  Herbert  Spencer,  The  Inadequacy  of  Natural  Selection,  1803. 
A  Rejoinder  to  Professor  Weismann,  1803.  Weismannism  once 
more,  1894. 

^  Wundt,  Vorlesungen  iiber  die  Menschen-  und  Thierseele,  sec- 
ond edition,  1802,  p.  441. 

0  J.  Sully,  The  Human  Mind,  1802,  i,  p.  139. 

:l  Th.  Ribot,  L'heredite  psychologique,  1894.  preface. 

^  Since  this  was  written  the  theory  of  "  Germinal  Selection  " 
has  been  added  to  it. 

J  Die  Bedeutung  der  sexuellen  Fortpflanzung  fiir  die  Selec- 
tionstheorie,  Jena,  1886,  p.  38. 

*"^  Amphimixis,  Jena,  1891.     (Weismann  must  of  course  hold  to 


PLAY  AND  INSTINCT.  53 

weakened  this  position  by  the  admission  that  the  germ 
plasm  may  have  only  a  ''  very  great "  but  not  absolute 
persistence.  I  do  not  refer  to  his  granting  the  inherit- 
ance of  diseases  (these  are,  after  all,  only  pollutions  of 
the  stream  that  may  not  essentially  alter  it),  but  to  his 
admitting  the  possibility  of  modifying  the  germ  plasm 
by  changing  nutriment  and  temperature.  * 

Next  in  order  is  his  essay  on  External  Influences  as 
Aids  to  Development  (1894),  where  he  shows  that  he  is 
not  blind  to  the  importance  of  external  conditions.  He 
here  concedes  that  the  development  of  germ  plasm  itself 
may  be  modified  by  means  of  changes  in  nutriment  and 
temperature,  while  predispositions  that  remain  latent 
under  ordinary  circumstances  ma}'  be  stimulated  to 
activity  by  such  "  external  aids.''  The  fact  that  this  is 
not  the  cause  but  only  the  occasion  of  the  modification 
is  especially  emphasized,  the  cause  being  always  the  pre- 
disposition latent  in  the  germ.  That  the  persistent  qual- 
ity of  the  germ  plasm  was  only  relative  had  already  been 
clearly  intimated,  however,  in  his  more  important  work, 
Das  Keimplasma^  1892,  p.  526.  Speaking  of  a  butter- 
fly, which  has  bright  or  dark  wings,  according  to  the 
climate,  he  goes  on  to  say:  "The  modifying  influence, 
here  temperature,  affects  in  each  individual  both  the 
fundament  of  the  wings — that  is,  a  portion  of  the  soma 
■ — and  also  the  germ  plasm  contained  in  germ  cells  of  the 
organism.  In  the  wing-fundament  the  same  determi- 
nants change  as  in  the  germ-cells — namely,  those  of  the 
wing-scales.  The  first  modification  can  not  influence 
the  germ  cells,  and  so  affects  only  the  colour  of  the  wings 

the  inheritance  of  acquired  characters  for  at  least  the  lowest  orders, 
for  the  mixinq  presupposes  some  ^iven  differences.) 

*  This  appears  in  the  early  essay  Ueber  die  Vererbung,  Jena, 
1883,  p.  49. 


54:  THE  PLAY  OF  AXIMALS. 

belonging  to  the  one  individual;  but  the  other  passes 
over  to  succeeding  generations  and  determines  the  colour 
of  their  wings  so  far  as  they  are  not  further  modified 
by  later  temperature  conditions."  It  is  only  by  means 
of  such  variations  in  the  germ  structure,  brought  about 
by  external  influences,  that  Weismann  can  now  find  a 
possible  explanation  of  the  origin  of  new  species.* 

I  now  pause  to  gather  up  these  positions.  Weis- 
mann's  theory  is  not  sufficiently  defined  by  the  thesis: 
there  is  no  inheritance  of  acquired  characters;  for,  in 
the  first  place,  he  grants  such  inheritance  in  the  case 
of  unicellular  structures  without  a  nucleus,  where  his 
distinctions  between  morpJio plasm  and  ideoplasm,  soma- 
togen  and  hiastogen  do  not  hold;  and,  secondly,  while 
there  is  indeed  for  him  no  inheritance  of  acquired 
characters  among  individuals  of  the  higher  forms  of 
life,  there  is  the  inheritance  of  the  acquired  charac- 
ters of  germ  plasm.  For  conditions  which  infiuence  an 
individual  organism  may  take  effect  in  the  hereditary 
substance  present  in  it  and  produce  inheritable  changes 
in  that  substance.  Acquired  variation  in  the  individual 
may  run  parallel,  under  certain  conditions,  with  acquired 
and  inherited  variation  in  the  germ  plasm,  but  is  never 
the  cause  of  it.  They  are  simultaneous  reactions  from  a 
third  condition — namely,  the  external  influence.  So  it 
appears  that  what  is  usually  meant  by  the  phrase  in- 
heritance of  acquired  characters — namely,  the  carrying 
over  from  one  generation  to  another  of  acquired  charac- 
ters of  the  body — is  actually  excluded  by  Weismann's 
theory,  f 

*  Keim plasma,  especially  pp.  542.  544,  54G.  Sec  also  G.  J.  Ro- 
manes's Examination  of  Weismannism. 

f  I  can  not  resist  citins:  Kant  here  as  an  advocate  of  the  old 
preformation  doctrine.     In   1775  he   said  in  his  article  on  The 


U-^ 


PLAY  AND  INSTINCT.  55 

It  is  undoubtedly  true  that  Weismann  has  seriously 
shaken  the  faith  in  inheritance  of  acquired  charac- 
ters which  formerly  played  so  important  a  role  in  phi- 
losophy, especially  in  the  departments  of  ethics  and  soci- 
ology. He  accomplished  this  quite  as  much  by  his 
searching  criticism  of  the  Lamarckian  principle  as  by 
his  own  complicated  theory  of  heredity.  Even  adher- 
ents of  the  Lamarckian  system  admit  that  its  principles 
were  rather  too  easily  assumed.  And,  fortunately,  one 
can  speak  of  a  neo-Darwinism  as  opposed  to  neo-La- 
marckism  *  without  being  pledged  to  all  the  mysteries 
of  Biophores  and  Determinants,  Ides  and  Idants.  Gal- 
ton,!  an  author  whose  stirp  theory  is  in  many  re- 
spects analogous,  is  ver\'  sceptical  in  regard  to  the  in- 
heritance of  acquired  characters,  if  he  does  not  abso- 


Various  Races  of  Man  :  "  Organic  bodies  naturally  contain  germs 
of  special  flevelopments  that  pertain  to  special  parts.  Birds  of 
the  same  species  that  live  in  difiPerent  climates  have  the  germs  of 
an  extra  set  of  feathers,  that  are  developed  or  not  according  to 
climatic  conditions.  .  .  .  External  things  may  be  the  occasion  but 
can  never  be  the  cause  of  such  developments,  which  are  always 
hereditary  and  specific.  Accident  or  mechanical-physical  causes 
can  as  little  effect  any  permanent  modification  in  the  form  or  attri- 
butes of  the  members  as  they  can  produce  an  organism  itself.  .  .  . 
Diseases  are  sometimes  hereditary,  but  these  do  not  belong  to  the 
organism  but  are  rather  ferments  in  bad  humors  which  propagate 
themselves  by  infection.  .  .  .  Air,  sunshine,  and  food  may  modify 
an  animal's  body  during  its  growth,  but  these  modifications  are 
not  to  be  confused  with  the  generative  force  which  carries  on  its 
operations  independently  of  them,  so  that  whatever  was  to  be 
pt^rpetuated  was  already  being  developed  for  the  advantage  and 
permanence  of  the  creature."  Kant  here  speaks  of  modifications 
within  the  species,  and  from  a  teleological  standpoint.  Neverthe- 
less the  similarity  of  ideas  is  astonishing. 

*  Lester  F.  Ward,  Neo-Darwinism  and  Neo-Lamarekism.  1891. 

f  Francis  Galton,  A  Theory  of  Heredity,  Journal  of  the  An- 
thropological Institute,  vol.  v,  pp.  329  ff.,  and  especially  344  i. 
6 


56  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

lutely  deny  it.     Similar  opinions  are  held  by  James, 
Yirchow,   Meynert,   His,   Ziehen,    0.    Fliigel,   Wallace, 
;    Eay-Lankester,  Thiselton  Dyer,  Brooks,  Baldwin,  Van 
1   Benimelen,  Spengel,  and  many  others.*     A.  Forel  has 
I  also  joined  their  ranks,  f     He  says:  "  I,  too,  used  to  be- 
\  lieve  that  instincts  were  hereditary  habits,  but  I  am 
now  convinced  that  this  is  an  error,  and  have  adopted 
Weismann's  view.     It  is  really  impossible  to  suppose 
that  acquired  habits,  like  piano  playing  and  bicycle  rid- 
ing for  instance   (these  are  certainly  acquired),   could 
hand  over  their  mechanism  to  the  germ  plasm  of  the 
offspring."  J 

The  transition  to  the  idea  of  instinct  is  easy  at  this 
point,  for,  even  according  to  the  latest  formulation  of 
Weismann's  theory,  it  is  quite  impossible  that  the  intel- 
ligent actions  of  ancestors  should  be  transmitted  to  their 
descendants  as  instincts.  Even  if  a  modification  of  the 
hereditary  substance  should  take  place  it  would  not 
originate  in  the  intelligent  act,  but  in  the  external  con- 
'ditions  that  impelled  the  individual  to  perform  the  act. 
Let  us  take  Schneider's  example  of  fear  in  the  dark. 
Our  ancestors  frequently  encountered  in  the  dark  the 
terrible  cave  bear.  This  repeated  experience  most  prob- 
'  ably  produced  in  their  brains  an  acquired  sensory  motor 
tract:  "  Dark — be  wary!  "     Now,  is  it  at  all  conceivable 

*  W.  Jaines,  The  Principles  of  Psycho]o2:y,  1801,  vol.  ii.  p.  678. 
Th.  Ziehen,  Leitfaden  der  physiolofrischen  Psychologie,  1893,  p.  13. 
O.  FU'igel.  Ueber  das  Seelenleben  der  Thiere,  Zeitschrift  fiir  exaete 
Philos.,  vol.  xiii  (1885),  p.  143:  Ueber  den  Instinct  der  Thiere  mit 
besondere  Rlicksieht  auf  Romanes  nnd  Spencer  (1890).  ibid.,  p.  17. 
A.  R.  Wallace.  Darwinism.  Baldwin,  American  Naturalist.  June, 
July,  1896.  For  the  other  authors  see  Weismann's  Das  Keim- 
plasma,  p.  519. 

f  [As  has  Lloyd  Morgan.     See  his  Habit  and  Instinct.] 

i  A.  Forel,  Gehirn  und  Seele,  1894,  p.  21. 


PLAY  AND  INSTINCT.  57 

that  a  variation  23arallel  with  this  can  have  been  ef- 
fected in  the  reproductive  substance  through  which  pre- 
dispositions arose  that  at  once  produced  a  similar 
tract  in  the  brains  of  their  descendants?  This  is  in- 
credible. It  follows,  then,  since  by  supposition  only 
the  external  environment  and  not  the  bodily  changes 
work  upon  the  germ  plasm,  that  any  explanation  of  in- 
stinct by  means  of  the  inheritance  of  acquired  characters 
is  quite  impossible.  There  remains,  then,  to  be  consid- 
ered in  this  example  only  the  explanation  by  means 
of  selection,  the  Darwinian  position.  This  is  simple 
enough,  supposing  it  to  be  really  a  case  of  heredity 
(as  I  do  not  pretend  to  affirm  categorically):  it  has 
always  been  the  case  that  more  of  those  individuals 
perished  who  were  inclined  to  walk  about  carelessly  in 
dark  caves  and  woods. 

Weismann  himself  has  not  neglected  the  question 
of  instinct.  He  said  as  long  ago  as  1883  that  all  in- 
stincts have  their  roots  not  in  the  acts  of  individuals, 
but  rather  in  germ  variation.*  In  the  same  lecture  he 
also  pointed  out  that  many  instinctive  acts  are  per- 
formed only  once  in  a  lifetime — for  instance,  the  flight 
of  the  queen  bee — and  would  thus  be  inherited. without 
practice.!  And  in  a  paper  on  the  Allmacht  der  Natur- 
ziichtung,  1893,  he  cites  a  highly  interesting  example 
which  seems  to  exclude  every  explanation  other  than 
that  of  selection.  It  concerns,  on  the  one  hand,  the 
origin  of  physical  characters  and  of  instincts,  and  on 
the  other  the  decadence  of  the  latter.  In  this  case 
the  inheritance  of  acquired  characters  is  out  of  the 
question,  as  the  subject  is  a  sterile  individual.  The 
workers  among  ants  are  known  to  be  sterile.     Among 

*  Ueber  f|pr  Vprerhuntr.  Jena,  IS^d,  p.  37. 

f  Ibid.     See  also  the  remark  of  Darwin  cited  above. 


58  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

some  species  the  female  workers  have  the  slaveholding 
instinct.  This  instinct  must  have  arisen  hefore  the  spe- 
cies had  sterile  workers  (they  have  developed  from  fe- 
males originally  productive);  for  all  the  intermediate 
stages  are  known  between  those  which  hold  no  slaves  at 
all  and  those  which  always  do  it.  The  Formica  san- 
guinea  do  not  yet  show  the  slaveholding  tendency  as  a 
fixed  and  demonstrable  characteristic  of  their  species,  nor 
have  they  the  extraordinary  physical  modification  that 
marks  the  Pohjergus  refescens,  settled  slaveholders.  Ac- 
cordingly, we  have  here  two  developmental  stages  with 
clearly  marked  instincts.  It  is  between  these  two  stages 
that  the  variation  to  sterile  workers  must  have  taken 
place.  The  jaws  must  be  changed  from  working  tools  to 
deadly  weapons,  as  well  as  become  adapted  for  carrying; 
they  have  become  sword-sharp  pincers,  sharp  and  strong, 
suited  alike  for  seizing  and  bringing  home  the  young 
from  other  nests  and  for  boring  into  the  heads  of  ene- 
mies. At  the  same  time  the  instinct  for  plundering  is 
enormously  strengthened.  And  here  the  hereditary  effect 
of  practice  can  not  possibly  be  argued.  The  sterile 
workers  could  not  possibly  transmit  anything,  and  their 
progenitors  possessed  neither  such  organs  nor  such  in- 
stincts. On  the  other  hand,  the  domestic  instincts  are 
weakened;  workers  of  the  Polyergus  neither  care  for  the 
larv^  nor  collect  food  and  building  material.  In  fact, 
they  seem  to  have  lost  entirely  even  the  capacity  to 
recognise  and  appropriate  their  own  proper  nourishment. 
"  Forel,  Lubbock,  and  Wasman  are  all  convinced  that 
the  assertion  made  by  Huber  long  ago  is  entirely  correct. 
I  have  repeated  his  experiment,  as  well  as  Forel's,  with 
the  same  result.  These  insects  starve  when  confined,  if 
none  of  their  slaves  are  at  hand  to  feed  them.  They 
do  not  recognise  a  drop  of  honey  as  something  that  will 


PLAY  AND  INSTINCT.  59 

satisfy  their  hunger,  and  when  Wasman  placed  a  dead 
pupa  actually  in  their  jaws,  they  made  no  attempt  to  eat 
it,  only  licked  it  inquiringly,  and  left  it.  But  as  soon  as 
one  of  their  slaves — that  is,  a  worker  of  the  Formica 
fiisca — was  introduced,  they  approached  and  begged  it 
for  food.  The  slave  hastened  to  the  honey  drop,  filled 
her  mouth,  and  brought  the  food  to  her  ladyship."  * 
AYhat  a  splendid  example  this  would  be  of  the  hereditary 
effect  of  disuse,  says  Weismann,  if  only  these  workers 
were  not  sterile!  As  the  unreasoning  conduct  of  these 
workers  excludes  the  idea  that  their  behaviour  springs 
from  the  judgment  of  individuals,  there  remains  for  an 
explanation  only  selection,  and  selection  of  the  mother 
at  that.  It  must  be  noted,  on  the  one  hand,  that  those 
ant  communities  are  more  thriving  whose  productive 
females  bring  forth  workers  whose  individual  varia- 
tions are  in  the  direction  of  the  decided  modifications  in 
physical  qualities  and  in  instinct  mentioned  above,  f  On 
the  other  hand,  if  the  force  of  selection  relaxes  with 
reference  to  the  weakening  instinct,  there  results  a 
community  where  the  fruitful  females  produce  workers 
whose  instinct  for  collecting,  rearing  the  young,  and 
foraging  is  constantly  diminishing  (negative  selection  or 
panmixia). 

Instances  like  this  must  increase  the  doubt  about 
the  inheritance  of  acquired  characteristics.  Let  us  now 
turn  our  attention  to  some  other  arguments  for  neo- 
Darwinism.  To  its  advocates  the  fact  is  very  significant 
that  not  a  single  example  seriously  threatening  Weis- 
mann's  theory  has  been  brought  forward  by  their  op- 

*  Weismann,  Der  Allraacht  der  Naturzuchtung,  Jena,  1893, 
p.  52. 

f  The  same  idea  may  be  found  in  Darwin's  Origin  of  Species, 
in  loc. 


L 


60  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

ponents.  Many  of  the  cases  cited  with  that  in  view  are 
scientifically  unreliable,  and  the  rest  can  be  explained 
quite  well  by  the  principle  of  selection.  If  acquired 
characters  were  hereditary,  what  an  instinctive  predis- 
position there  would  be  for  such  acts  as  writing,  for  in- 
stance!— and  Spencer  would  be  able  to  ascribe  Mozarf  s 
precocious  musical  talent  to  the  practice  of  a  few  previ- 
ous generations!  It  should  further  be  borne  in  mind 
that  the  long-continued  experiments  of  Weismann  and 
others  have  never  produced  a  positive  instance  of  such 
transmission.  Darwin  himself  was  interested  in  the 
question.  Romanes  tells  us  that  in  1874  he  had  a  long 
conversation  with  him  on  the  subject,  and  undertook  a 
systematic  series  of  experiments  under  his  direction.  He 
continued  them  for  more  than  five  years  almost  uninter- 
ruptedly, but  they  were  all  unsuccessful;  so  he,  too, 
found  it  impossible  to  establish  the  truth  of  the  inherit- 
ance of  acquired  characters.* 
*—  As  regards  instinct,  there  is,  further,  the  a  'priori 
argument  that  it  is  inconceivable  how  acquired  connec- 
tions among  the  brain  cells  could  so  affect  the  inner 
structure  of  the  reproductive  substance  as  to  produce 
inherited  brain  tracts  in  later  generations.  And,  finally, 
there  is  this  consideration  mentioned  by  Ziegler  as  a 
suggestion  of  Meynert's:  "It  is  well  known  that  in  the 
higher  vertebrates  acquired  associations  are  located  in 
the  cortex  of  the  hemispheres.  As  an  acquired  act  be- 
comes habitual,  it  may  be  assumed  that  the  correspond- 
ing combination  of  nervous  elements  will  become  more 
dense  and  strong  and  the  tract  proportionally  more 
fixed.  This  being  the  case,  it  follows  that  the  tracts  of 
acquired  and  habitual  association,  as  well  as  those  of 

*  Romanes,  A  Critical  Examination  of  Woismannism,  preface. 


PLAY  AND  INSTINCT.  61 

acquired  movement,  pass  through  the  cerebrum.  In- 
stincts and  reflexes,  however,  have  their  seat  for  the 
most  part  elsewhere.  The  tracts  of  very  few  of  them 
are  found  in  the  cortex  of  the  hemispheres.  It  is  chiefly 
in  the  lower  parts  of  the  brain  and  spinal  cord  that  the 
associations  and  co-ordinations  corresponding  to  in- 
stincts and  reflexes  have  their  seat.  When  the  compara- 
tive anatomist  investigates  the  relative  size  of  the  hemi- 
spheres in  vertebrates  (especially  in  amphibians,  rep- 
tiles, birds,  and  mammals),  a  very  evident  increase  in 
size  is  observed  which  apparently  goes  hand  in  hand 
with  the  gradual  gain  in  intelligence.  In  the  course  of 
long  phylogenetic  development,  during  which  the  hemi- 
spheres have  gradually  attained  their  greatest  dimen- 
sions, they  have  constantly  been  the  organ  of  reason  and 
the  seat  of  acquired  association.  If,  then,  habit  could 
become  instinct  through  heredity,  it  is  probable  that  the 
cerebrum  would  in  much  greater  degree  than  is  the  fact 
be  the  seat  of  instinct."  * 

But  what  part  has  psychology  had  in  this  war  of 
opinions?  It  is  impossible  for  her  to  give  a  satisfactory 
answer  to  this  question.  She  must  pick  her  way  cau- 
tiously, and  in  the  matter  of  instinct  the  adoption  of 
the  neo-Darwinistic  theory  is  evidently  the  most  prudent 
course,  for  to  it  belongs  the  now  universally  recognised 
principle  of  selection.  Accordingly,  when  I  speak  of 
instinct  it  will  be  in  accordance  with  this  idea  of  innate 
hereditary  variations,  passing  by  the  Lamarckian  theory 
as  either  obsolete  or  a  point  of  view  yet  to  be  sub^-tanti- 
ated.  In  what  follows  I  adhere  in  essentials  to  the  defi- 
nition that  Ziegler,  a  follower  of  Weismann,  has  given  in 

*  H.  E.  Ziegler,  Ueber  den  Begriff  des  Instincts,  Verh.  d. 
deutsche  zool.  Gesellschaft.  1891,  p.  184.  vSee  also  Baldwin,  Men- 
tal Development  in  the  Child  and  the  Race,  chap,  vii,  §  4. 


62  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

the  address  already  cited,  with  the  exception  of  one 
point,  which  I  shall  indicate  at  once.  Ziegler  has  set 
forth  with  great  skill,  clearness,  and  technical  scholar- 
ship a  point  of  view  which  is  now  more  and  more 
attracting  the  attention  of  modern  zoologists;  and  the 
leading  features  of  his  exposition  coincide  with  the 
views  of  many  modern  psychologists.  In  all  instinct 
there  is  a  close  connection  between  a  particular  stimulus 
and  a  particular  act,  a  connection  that  is  of  utility 
under  ordinary  conditions.  Is  this  useful  adjustment 
attributable  to  conscious  will?  No.  On  the  contrary, 
the  idea  of  consciousness  must  be  rigidly  excluded  from 
any  definition  of  instinct  that  is  to  be  of  practical 
utility.  (Who  can  tell  whether  a  dog,  a  lizard,  a  fish, 
a  beetle,  a  snake,  or  an  earthworm  performs  an  action 
consciously  or  unconsciously?  It  is  always  hazardous  in 
scientific  investigation  to  allow  a  hypothesis  which  can 
not  be  tested  empirically.) 

It  follows,  that  such  fixed  and  useful  connections 
between  stimulus  and  action  are  to  be  treated  as  reflexes. 
Instincts  are,  as  Herbert  Spencer  has  rightly  said,  com- 
plex reflex  acts.  But  the  connection  between  reflex 
action  and  instinct  is  explicable  only  by  means  of  selec- 
tion, and  selection  in  the  Weismannian  sense,  which 
excludes  the  inheritance  of  acquired  characters.  "  In 
the  progress  of  phylogenetic  development  natural  selec- 
tion lays  the  foundation  of  instincts,  and  accordingly 
they  are  useful.  Instincts  are  adapted  to  conditions,  and 
serve  generally  for  the  preservation  of  the  individual, 
always  for  that  of  the  species."  There  must  be,  physio- 
logically speaking,  certain  connecting  paths  among  the 
ganglion  cells  that — existing  as  hereditary  predisposi- 
tions— contain  "  hereditary  tracts." 

*  See  James,  The  Principles  of  Psychology,  ii,  p.  891. 


PLAY  AND  INSTINCT.  63 

The  complexity  of  instinct  that  is  often  so  baffling, 
and  its  wonderful  adaptiveness  are,  after  all,  not  more 
difficult  to  explain  than  the  other  things  about  an  organ- 
ism. For  example:  "  The  marvellous  instinct  that  leads 
the  wood  bee  (Xylocopa  violacea  Fabr.)  to  build  its  in- 
tricate nest  in  the  trunks  of  trees  is  not  more  inexplicable 
than  the  faceted  eyes  of  these  very  insects.  .  .  .  The 
principles  involved  in  the  morphological  structure  of 
the  organ  also  account  for  the  instincts;  and  there  are 
also  to  be  taken  into  account  homology,  analogy,  and 
parallel  development,  individual  variation,  natural  selec- 
tion, and  the  resulting  adaptation,  cross-breeding,  and 
atavism;  here  also  there  are  cases  of  rudimentary  and 
hindered  development,  natural  or  artificial  deformity." 
No  part  can  be  had,  in  the  genesis  of  instinct,  by  associa- 
tion resting  on  a  foundation  of  previous  experience,  what 
we  mean  by  understanding,  intelligence  in  its  widest 
sense;  nor  by  acquired  tracts,  for  these  are  not  hereditary. 

After  giving  this  elaboration  of  Ziegler's  theory  in 
his  own  terms,  I  make  these  essential  points: 

1.  The  assumption  that  intelligent  acts  are  the 
ground  of  the  origin  of  instinct  is  unwarrantable.  Even 
if  the  Lamarckian  theory  is  not  absolutely  tabled,  it  is 
much  wiser,  so  long  as  the  question  remains  open,  to  be 
content  with  the  leading  Darwinian  principle,  since  its 
grounds  are  more  assured. 

2.  In  the  explanation  of  instinct  (and  of  play)  we 
need  consider  only  natural  selection,  for  we  do  not  know 
any  other  principle  of  development.  The  simple  reflex 
action  must  develop  in  the  process  of  time  into  the  com- 
plex reflex  actions  that  we  call  instinctive.  In  this  way 
we  try  to  explain  their  adaptability  as  well  as  we  explain 
organic  adaptability  in  general.  Whether  it  can  be  satis- 
factorily done  is  another  question.    I  am  not  one  of  the 


6i  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

number  who  believe  in  the  "  all-sufficiency  of  natural 
selection."  Leaving  out  of  the  question  the  fact  that 
our  knowledge  of  phylogenesis  rests  finally  on  the  mys- 
terious ocean  of  metaphysical  problems,  of  which  I  have 
spoken,  it  is  by  no  means  settled,  even  in  the  sphere  of 
empirical  science,  that  selection  of  ordinary  individual 
variation  suffices  to  bring  about,  even  gradually  and  by 
minute  degrees,  a  change  from  one  species  to  another. 
There  are  those  who  deny  this,  to  whom  the  Darwinian 
system  is  comparatively  insignificant.  As  in  surging 
water  the  particles  of  each  wave  move  both  backward 
and  forward,  so  that  the  surface  motion  forward  is  really 
only  apparent,  so  the  selection  of  hereditary  qualities 
can  not  extend  beyond  a  certain  definite  point,  and 
for  the  transformation  to  new  species  other  and  essen- 
tially different  variations  are  necessary,  in  their  opin- 
ion, in  the  structure  of  the  germ  substance  itself.* 

Nevertheless,  we  know  no  principle  except  that  of 
selection,  and  we  must  go  as  far  as  that  will  take  us. 
Absolute  knowledge  of  such  phenomena  is  practically 
unattainable,  f 

*  Thus  Galton  and  Bateson.  F.  Galton,  Discontinuity  in  Evo- 
lution, Mind,  1894. 

f  Since  this  was  written  a  new  theory  has  been  proposed  which 
is  evidently  well  adapted  to  supplement  the  selection  principle. 
Baldwin  has  discovered  a  way  whereby  natural  selection  is  fur- 
thered by  individual  accommodations  or  functional  adaptations,  and 
directed  by  them  without  the  assumption  of  any  direct  inheritance 
of  acquired  characters ;  as  he  says  "  the  appearance  of  such  inherit- 
ance will  be  fully  explained  "  (Mental  Development  in  the  Child  and 
the  Race,  German  translation,  p.  188.  fourth  English  edition,  chap, 
vii,  g  4).  [Of.  The  Psychological  Pveview,  vol.  iv,  p.  394  f.,  July,  1897. 
This  influence  is  called  by  him  "organic  selection".]  Independ- 
ently of  Baldwin,  Osborn  and  Lloyd  Morgan  have  reached  a  simi- 
lar position.  [It  is  also  now  accepted  by  Mr.  Alfred  Russel  Wallace 
and  Prof.  E.  B.  Poulton,  of  Oxford.    The  latter  says  (Science,  New 


PLAY  AND  INSTINCT.  65 

3.  Since  instincts,  according  to  Spencer^s  view,  al- 
ready explained,  are  only  complicated  reflex  acts,  the 
question  may  be  excluded  whether  animals  acting  in- 
stinctively are  conscious  in  play  of  what  they  do.  It 
is  evident,  of  course,  that  many  instinctive  actions  are 
accompanied  by  consciousness,  but  seeing  that  even  the 
instincts  thus  consciously  practised  are  probably  derived 
from  unconsciously  perfected  reflexes,  it  is  impossible  to 
draw  the  line.* 

Ziegler  is  more  cautious  than  Eomanes  and  Schnei- 
der, who  attempt  to  find  a  definite  boundary  line  between 

York,  October  15, 1897,  p.  585) :  "  These  authorities  justly  claim  that 
the  power  of  the  individual  to  phiy  a  certain  part  in  the  struggle 
for  life  may  constantly  give  a  definite  trend  and  direction  to  evo- 
lution, and  that  although  the  results  of  purely  individual  response 
to  external  forces  are  not  hereditary,  yet  indirectly  they  may  re- 
sult in  the  permanent  addition  of  corresponding  powers  to  the 
species.  .  .  .  The  principles  involved  seem  to  constitute  a  substan- 
tial gain  in  the  attempt  to  understand  the  motive  forces  by  which 
the  great  process  of  organic  evolution  has  been  brought  about."] 
The  importance  of  this  theory  seems  to  me  to  depend  mainly  upon 
whether  the  fostering  of  "congenital  variations"  in  this  way  is  of 
sufficient  ''  selective  value,"  even  though  we  grant  the  supposition 
made,  that  the  animals  are  kept  alive  by  their  individual  accom- 
modations. Baldwin  has  considered  this  point  (Science,  New  York, 
March  20  and  April  10,  1896),  but  perhaps  without  giving  it  suffi- 
cient prominence.  It  should  also  be  borne  in  mind  that  individual 
accommodations  become  through  practice  instinct-like  ("semi- 
automatic "),  so  that  the  necessity  for  the  perfection  of  the  con- 
genital function  is  somewhat  diminished.     [Cf.  the  Appendix.] 

*  W.  Wundt  (Grundziige  der  physiologischen  Psychologic,  ii, 
582)  and  E.  Alix  (L'esprit  de  nos  betes,  Paris,  1890,  p.  580)  arc  of 
the  opinion  that  the  reflex  itself  is  conscious  movement  become 
mechanical.  Both  of  them  connect  this  idea  with  the  inherit- 
ance of  acquired  characteristics.  Apart  from  that,  it  is  not  con- 
tradictory of  what  has  been  said,  for  frequently-repeated  reflexes 
are  often  carried  on  unconsciously,  even  when  they  were  accom- 
panied by  consciousness  when  first  appearing  in  the  individual. 


66  THE   PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

instinct  and  reflex  action  according  as  consciousness 
is  present  or  not.  *  In  the  opposite  direction,  he  is 
more  cautious  than  Ziehen^f  who  accepts  the  hypothesis 
of  the  absolute  unconsciousness  of  instinctive  acts. 
Ziegler  is  probably  influenced  here,  as  on  other  points,  by 
Herbert  Spencer,  who  thus  guardedly  expresses  himself: 
"  Instinct  in  its  higher  forms  is  probably  accompanied 
by  a  rudimentary  consciousness."  J;  So  far  I  agree  with 
Ziegler,  but  his  avoidance  of  any  definite  expression  of 
opinion  as  to  whether  consciousness  is  or  is  not  present 
is  significant  in  another  connection,  and  here,  as  I  think, 
he  is  not  entirely  in  the  right.  Every  instinctive  act  is  a 
means  for  preserving  the  species.  This  fact  gives  the 
question  of  consciousness  a  double  significance,  as  Hart- 
mann's  definition,  for  example,  clearly  shows :  "  Instinct 
is  the  conscious  willing  of  means  to  an  unconsciously 
willed  end."  ** 

As  concerns  the  means,  that  is,  the  act  itself,  it 
is  safer,  as  has  been  remarked,  to  avoid  the  terms 
''  conscious  "  and  "  unconscious  "  altogether.  But  it 
seems  permissible  to  say,  at  least  with  reference  to  the 
end  of  a  particular  action,  "  by  instinct  we  understand 
the  impulse  to  an  action  whose  end  the  individual  is 
unconscious  of,  but  which  nevertheless  furthers  the  at- 
tainment of  that  end."  ||  That  is  to  say,  the  conscious- 
ness of  an  end  as  such  is  entirely  separable  from  the  in- 
stinctive act.  Ziegler  does  not  leave  room  for  any  psy- 
chic factor,  not  even  a  negative  one,  in  his  definition. 

*  Romanes,  Animal   Intelligence,   1892,  p.   11.     Especially  in 
Schneider's  book,  Der  thierische  Wille. 

f  Th.  Ziehen,  Leitfaden  der  physiologischen  Psychologic,  p.  12. 
X  n.  Spencer,  Principles  of  Psychology,  p.  105. 

*  Hartmann,  Philosophic  der  Fnbewussten,  i,  p.  76. 
II  Schneider,  Der  thierische  Wille,  p.  61. 


PLAY  AND  INSTINCT.  67 

"  Who  can  know  whether  the  bird  when  she  builds  her 
nest  already  has  the  knowledge  that  her  young  will 
find  a  warm  bed  in  it?  And  even  as  applied  to  man 
this  criterion  is  misleading.  For  example,  when  a 
mother  suckles  her  child  the  action  is  evidently  in- 
stinctive, though  the  mother  perhaps  cherishes  the  hope 
that  the  child  may  become  the  support  of  her  old  age 
and  the  representative  of  his  family,  thus  knowing  per- 
fectly well  not  only  the  immediate  end  of  her  action, 
but  also  its  utmost  consequences."  On  this  account 
Ziegler  prefers  not  to  speak  of  the  presence  or  absence 
of  consciousness  of  end  or  object.  But  it  seems  to 
me  that  the  subject  has  quite  a  different  aspect  if  we 
first  try  to  make  clear  just  what  is  meant  by  lack  of 
consciousness  of  end  or  object.  There  are  two  widely 
different  ways  of  interpreting  the  expression.  First, 
there  is  the  relativity  of  the  end  to  be  considered,  as 
Schneider  has  justly  remarked  in  his  later  work,  Der 
menschliche  Wille.*  When  a  beast  of  prey  scents  his 
victim,  and  creeps  toward  it  with  the  movement  pecul- 
iar to  his  kind,  this  creeping  is  a  means  to  the  end  of 
approaching  near  enough  for  a  spring.  The  spring  is  a 
means  to  the  end  of  seizing  the  animal  and  slaying  it. 
Eending  the  prey  is  a  means  to  the  end  of  eating  it,  and 
this  in  turn  serves  the  end  of  nutrition,  and  so  on.  Only 
the  last  and  highest  end  is,  as  far  as  we  know,  not 
a  relative  one — namely,  the  preservation  of  the  species. 
But  under  present  conditions  only  reflecting  man  can 
be  conscious  of  this  end,  and  even  he  is  scarcely  con- 
scious of  it  in  actual  everyday  life.  There  is  usually 
only  a  relative  consciousness  of  end  even  in  our  actions 
which  are  not  instinctive.    When  a  man  buys  a  new  suit 

*  Darwin  also,  in  The  Origin  of  Species,  p.  328. 


68  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

of  clothes  he  does  not  reflect  that  he  is  thus  furthering 
the  preservation  of  his  kind  (Schneider).  As  for  the  in- 
stinctive acts  of  children,  savages,  and  animals,  it  may 
safely  be  affirmed  that  in  them  such  adaptation  of  means 
to  the  end  as  selection  requires  for  the  preservation  of 
the  species  is  entirely  unconscious.  At  the  same  time 
there  may  very  well  be  consciousness  of  relative  ends. 
The  fox  out  hunting,  for  instance,  may  have  a  memory 
of  gastronomic  enjoyment  in  his  mind  as  his  end  idea. 
I  consider  this  first  conception  of  activity  unconscious  of 
its  end  inadequate,  however,  because,  as  has  been  said, 
actions  not  instinctive  are  also  often  unaccompanied  by 
a  consciousness  of  their  highest  or  final  end. 

Nevertheless,  the  position  to  be  mentioned  as  second, 
combated  by  Ziegler,  seems  to  me  to  be  nearer  the  truth, 
namely,  the  position  that  an  action  is  only  instinctive 
when  it  does  not  include  a  consciousness  of  end,  either 
relative  or  absolute,  as  its  motive.  Let  us  again  take  the 
fox,  scenting  his  prey.  If  in  creeping  toward  it  he  has 
a  conscious  end,  this  can  only  be  grounded  in  in- 
dividually acquired  associations  of  smell  with  the  agree- 
able taste  of  the  victim,  and  in  the  recollection  that  it 
has  been  known  to  escape  in  consequence  of  careless 
movements  on  the  part  of  the  pursuer.  We  can  not 
speak  of  instinct  within  the  limits  of  such  acquired 
association,  so  far  as  it  operates  as  a  motive.  So  far, 
on  the  other  hand,  as  the  mere  external  stimulus  to 
the  olfactory  nerves  of  the  fox  excites  to  functional 
activity  the  hereditary  tracts  in  the  animal's  brain,  so 
far  his  act  is  just  as  instinctive  as  the  spitting  of  a  kitten 
at  the  hand  which  has  stroked  a  dog,  or  the  bird  that 
builds  a  nest.  Even  if  the  bird  does  have  the  conscious- 
ness that  its  young  will  find  a  warm  bed  there,  its  action 
may  still  be  purely  instinctive,  so  long  as  that  conscious- 


PLAY  AND  INSTINCT.  69 

ness  remains  a  mere  memory,  without  motive  power.  As 
soon,  however,  as  the  idea  affects  the  will,  we  have  no 
longer  a  purely  instinctive  action  to  deal  with,  but  one 
that  is  partly  instinctive  and  partly  voluntary.  Inas- 
much, also,  as  conscious  action  often  tends  to  become 
instinctive,  I  may  take  account  of  that  fact,  and  accord- 
ingly formulate  this  approximate  definition:  The  actions 
of  men  and  animals  are  instinctive  when  originated  by 
means  of  hereditary  brain  tracts  (presumably  of  selective 
origin)  and  without  an  idea  serving  as  their  motive. 

The  fact  that  the  same  act  may  be  partly  instinctive 
and  partly  voluntary  is  of  importance  in  many  con- 
nections, not  least  in  that  of  play,  in  which  the  higher 
the  stage  the  more  the  individual  accommodations  are 
involved.  Formerly  extreme  theorists  entertained  the 
view  that  only  animals  have  instinct,  only  man  has 
reason.  Cuvier  believed  that  the  relation  of  instinct 
and  intelligence  was  that  of  inverse  ratio;  Flourens,  the 
same.  Darwin  opposes  Cuvier's  idea,  but  thinks  that 
"man  perhaps  has  somewhat  less  than  the  animals 
standing  next  him,"  and  that  the  instincts  of  higher 
animals  are  less  numerous  and  simpler  than  those  of 
the  lower  orders.*  James,  on  the  contrary,  reverses  the 
proportion,  and  says  that  man  is  probably  the  animal 
wdth  most  instincts,  t  This  is  perfectly  true  if  it  is  borne 
in  mind  that  some  actions  are  partly  voluntary  and 
partly  instinctive.      Take,   for  instance,   lovers   of  the 

*  Descent  of  Man,  ed.  in  one  vol.,  p.  75. 

f  The  Principles  of  Psycholoory,  vol.  ii,  p.  389.  Pouchet,  too,  in 
the  Revue  des  deux  mondes.  February,  1870,  and  Alix  (L'esprit  de 
nos  betes,  1890)  express  the  view  that  the  most  intelligent  animals 
have  an  especially  large  number  of  instincts.  [See  also  Lloyd  Mor- 
gan. Habit  and  Instinct,  for  a  general  discussion  and  (p.  328)  for  a 
criticism  of  James.  The  same  author  collects  and  criticises  Some 
Definitions  of  Instinct,  in  Natural  Science,  May,  1895.] 


70  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

chase,  who  are  perfectly  conscious  of  the  object  of  their 
actions  and  yet  are  in  great  part  impelled  by  instinctive 
impulses.  If  such  half-instinctive  phenomena  are  in- 
cluded in  the  category,  then  man  has  as  many  instincts 
as  any  animal,  if  not  more.  By  this  elucidation  we 
reach  the  truth  that  lies  concealed  in  the  theory  men- 
tioned above — namely,  that  the  lower  the  animal  stands 
the  purer  are  its  instincts;  the  higher  its  place  the  more 
will  the  hereditary  tracts  be  weakened,  altered,  or  sup- 
planted by  acquired  tracts.  ^'  The  more  various  and 
ready  the  inherited  mechanical  impulses  of  a  class  of 
animals,"  say  the  Miillers,  "  the  less  do  we  find  of  in- 
dependent mental  capacity."  *  And  Flourens  remarks, 
^'  Intelligence  does  not  enter  into  instinct,  but  it  influ- 
ences it,  protects  it,  and  alters  circumstances  to  suit  it, 
and  this  agreement  between  instinct  and  intelligence  is 
well  worth  attention."  f 

I  am  now  firmly  convinced  that  this  relation  is  itself 
eminently  useful,  and  that  it  is  due  to  negative  as  w^ell  as 
positive  selection.  Hartmann  has  already  pointed  out 
that  Nature  substitutes  instinct  where  the  means  are  not 
at  hand  for  conscious  action  or  acquisition. J;  The  higher 
and  more  complicated  the  scale  of  activity  which  the 
struggle  for  existence  requires  of  a  species  the  more  will 
selection  favour  development  of  the  brain  and  of  the 
mental  capacities.  The  more  these  increase  by  means 
of  positive  selection  the  less  will  its  aid  be  needed  in  the 
sphere  of  instinct.  The  result  will  be  that  fewer  indi- 
viduals will  have  completely  developed  hereditary  tracts 

*  A.  and  K.  Milller,  Wohnungen,  Leben  und  Eigenthiimlich- 
kciten  in  der  hohci-en  Thierwelt,  p.  217. 

f  P.  Flourens,  Psycholojjie  oomparee.  second  edition,  1864,  p.  10. 
See  also  .1.  Sally,  The  Human  Mind,  1892,  i,  p.  187. 

X  Hartmann,  Philos.  d.  Unbewussten,  i,  p.  185. 


PLAY  AXD  INSTINCT.  71 

for  future  transmission.  In  short,  where  positive  selec- 
tion furthers  the  growth  of  intelligence,  for  instinct 
there  will  be  a  certain  degree  of  negative  selection  or 
panmixia.  (This,  of  course,  applies  only  to  instincts 
for  which  conscious  actions  can  be  advantageously  sub- 
stituted.*) Indeed,  it  might  even  be  said  that  the  de- 
generation of  instinct  is  due  to  positive  selection.  "We 
have  no  intimation  at  what  stage  of  evolution  the  ani- 
mal world  first  achieves  activity  that  depends  on  its 
own  intelligence  or  the  capacity  for  individually  ac- 
quired association;  but  we  may  assume  that  at  some 
point  in  the  progress  of  evolution  the  creature  attained 
sufficient  intelligence  to  accomplish  many  things  by 
means  of  it  better  than  by  instinct.  From  this  moment 
on,  extensive  inheritance  of  brain  mechanism  would  have 
been  positively  prejudicial  to  the  further  development  of 
intelligence,  and  a  positive  selection  may  be  assumed  thaf 
would  directly  favour  less  finished  instincts  in  order  to 
produce  in  the  nervous  system  a  partiality  for  the  now 
more  useful  acquired  functions,  f 

*  [Romanes  thinks  the  existence  of  both  sorts  of  function  shows 
the  inheritance  of  acquired  characters  in  the  case  of  instincts 
(Heredity  and  Utility,  p.  74  f.) :  but  Baldwin  shows  that  in  such 
cases  the  instinctive  performance  has  an  additional  utility,  thus 
supporting  the  position  of  the  text  (Science,  New  York,  April  10, 
1896).] 

f  Wundt  also  points  to  this  idea  in  the  section  on  "Affects  and 
Impulses"  in  his  Physiolofr.  Psychologic.  Vol.  ii,  p.  512,  of  the 
fourth  edition  runs  thus :  "  The  many-sidedness  of  a  creature  offers 
a  wide  field  for  individual  development,  and  at  the  same  time  the 
determination  hy  heredity  is  constantly  diminished."  Cf.  the  very 
precise  statement  of  this  by  Baldwin  in  Mental  Development  in 
the  Child,  etc.,  chap.  xvi.  §  1  (German  edition).  [See  Psychological 
Review,  iv,  July,  1897,  p.  399,  and  his  preface  to  this  work.]  The 
contrary  supposition  that  imperfect  instincts  betoken  early  stages 
in  evolution  is  surely  incorrect  in  many  cases. 
7 


72  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  we  may  explain  by  such  degenera- 
tion of  instincts  the  countless  cases  which  have  caused 
such  men  as  Wallace  to  doubt  whether  there  is  any  in- 
stinct at  all.  In  his  chapter  on  The  Philosophy  of  Birds' 
Nests,  Wallace  has  collected  observations  intended  to 
prove  that  birds  do  not  come  into  possession  of  their 
songs  by  inheritance,  but  learn  them  individually.  Bar- 
rington  caged  young  linnets  with  singing  larks,  whose 
song  they  learned  so  well  that,  even  when  placed  with 
other  linnets,  they  did  not  change  them.  A  bullfinch 
sang  like  a  wren  and  without  any  of  the  characteristics  of 
its  own  kind,  and  similar  results  were  obtained  from  the 
wheat-ear,  fallow-finch,  nightingale,  and  woodpecker. 
"  These  facts,"  says  Wallace,  "  and  many  others  which 
might  be  quoted,  render  it  certain  that  the  peculiar  notes 
of  birds  are  acquired  by  imitation,  just  as  a  child  learns 
English  or  French,  not  by  instinct,  but  by  hearing 
the  language  spoken  by  its  parents."  *  This  sounds 
very  convincing,  but  it  is  first  to  be  considered  that  the 
use  of  the  voice  is  instinctive,  and  then  that  imitation 
itself  is  instinctive,  of  which  more  is  to  be  said  below; 
and,  finally,  that  the  experiment  failed  with  young  birds 
taken  from  the  nest  when  only  a  few  days  old,  for  they 
could  never  be  infiuenced  again  in  the  same  way  by  later 
experiences.  The  song  of  birds  is  no  doubt  a  mixed 
phenomenon  in  which  instinct  and  experience  blend,  f 

Such  advancement  of  the  evolution  of  intelligence 
as  we  have  been  considering  is  favoured  also  by  play,  as  I 

*  Wallace,  Contributions  to  the  Theory  of  Natural  Selection, 
in  loc. 

t  [This  conclusion  is  strongly  supported  by  the  researches  of 
Lloyd  Morgan.  See  his  Habit  and  Instinct.]  There  is  evidence, 
too,  that  complicated  songs  are  produced  without  teaching.  Sim- 
ple calls  like  those  of  the  cuckoo  and  quail  are  purely  instinctive. 


PLAY  AND  INSTINCT.  73 

believe.  I  trace  the  connection  as  follows:  A  succession 
of  important  life  tasks  is  appointed  for  the  adult  animal 
of  the  higher  orders^  as  for  primitive  man,  some  of  the 
principal  being  as  follows: 

1.  Absolute  control  of  its  own  body.  Grounded  on 
this  fundamental  necessity  are  the  special  tasks,  namely: 

2.  Complete  control  over  the  means  of  locomotion 
for  change  of  place,  characteristic  of  the  species,  as  walk- 
ing, running,  leaping,  swimming,  flying. 

3.  Great  agility  in  the  pursuit  of  prey,  as  lying  in 
wait,  chasing,  seizing,  shaking.  Equal  fitness  for  escap- 
ing from  powerful  enemies,  as  fleeing,  dodging  in  rapid 
flight,  hiding,  etc. 

4.  Special  abihty  for  fighting,  especially  in  the  strug- 
gle with  others  of  the  same  kind  during  courtship,  etc. 

After  the  foregoing  discussion  there  can  be  no  doubt 
that  instinct  plays  a  part  in  all  this  adaptation  for  the 
struggle  for  life  and  preservation  of  the  species,  so  neces- 
sary in  man  and  other  animals.  Further — and  here 
I  again  come  into  touch  with  the  end  of  the  last  chap- 
ter— it  would  be  entirely  in  harmony  with  other  phe- 
nomena of  heredity  if  we  found  that  these  instincts  ap- 
pear at  that  period  of  life  when  they  are  first  seriously 
needed.  Just  as  many  physical  peculiarities  which  are 
of  use  in  the  struggle  for  the  female  only  develop  when 
the  animal  needs  them;  just  as  many  instincts  that  be- 
long to  reproduction  first  appear  at  maturity;  so  the 
instinct  of  hostility  might  first  spring  up  in  the  same 
manner  only  when  there  is  real  need  for  it;  and  so  it 
might  be  supposed  wdth  other  instincts  in  connection 
with  the  related  activities.  The  instinct  for  flight  would 
only  be  awakened  by  real  danger,  and  that  of  hunting 
only  when  the  animal's  parents  no  longer  nourished 
it,  and  so  on.     What  would  be  the  result  if  this  were 


74  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

actually  the  case — if,  in  other  words,  there  were  no  such 
thing  as  pla}^?  It  would  be  necessary  for  the  special 
instincts  to  be  elaborated  to  their  last  and  finest  details. 
For  if  they  were  only  imperfectly  prepared,  and  there- 
fore insufficient  for  the  real  end,  the  animal  might  as 
well  enter  on  his  struggle  for  life  totally  unprepared. 
The  tiger,  for  instance,  no  longer  fed  by  his  parents,  and 
without  practice  in  springing  and  seizing  his  prey,  would 
inevitably  perish,  though  he  might  have  an  undefined 
hereditary  impulse  to  creep  upon  it  noiselessly,  strike 
it  down  by  a  tremendous  leap,  and  subdue  it  with  tooth 
and  nail,  for  the  pursued  creature  would  certainly  escape 
on  account  of  his  unskilfulness.* 

Without  play  practice  it  would  be  absolutely  indis- 
pensable that  instinct  should  be  very  completely  devel- 
oped, in  order  that  the  acts  described  might  be  accurately 
performed  by  inherited  mechanism,  as  is  also  the  case 
with  such  instinctive  acts  as  are  exhibited  but  once  in 
a  lifetime.     Even  assuming  this  possibility,  what  be- 

> comes  of  the  evolution  of  higher  intelligence?  Animals 
would  certainly  make  no  progress  intellectually  if  they 
were  thus  blindly  left  in  the  swaddling-clothes  of  in- 
herited impulse;  but,  fortunately,  they  are  not  so  dealt 

-with.  ^  In  the  very  moment  when  advancing  evolution 
has  gone  so  far  that  intellect  alone  can  accomplish  more 
than  instinct, hereditary  mechanism  tends  to  lose  its  per- 
fection, and  the  "  chiselling  out  of  brain  predisposi- 
tions" t  by  means  of  individual  experience  becomes  more 
and  more  prominent.  And  it  is  by  the  play  of  children 
and  animals  alone  that  this  carving  out  can  be  proper- 
ly and  perfectly  accomplished.     So   natural   selection 

*  In  such  a  case,  of  course,  the  parents  would  never  have 
brouerht  him  living  prey  to  play  with. 

f  E.  V.  Ilartmann,  Pliilosophic  des  Unbewussten,  iii,  p.  244. 


PLAY  AND  IXSTIXCT.  75 

through  the  play  of  the  young  furthers  the  fulfilment  of 
Goethe's  profound  saying:  "  What  thou  hast  inherited 
from  the  fathers,  labour  for,  in  order  to  possess  it." 

At  this  point  the  full  biological  significance  of  play 
first  becomes  apparent.  It  is  a  very  widespread  opinion 
that  youth,  which  belongs,  strictly  speaking,  only  to  the 
higher  orders,  is  for  the  purpose  of  giving  the  animal 
time  to  adjust  itself  to  the  complicated  tasks  of  its  life  to 
which  its  instincts  are  not  adequate.*  The  higher  the 
attainment  required,  the  longer  the  time  of  preparation. 
This  being  the  case,  the  investigation  of  play  assumes 
great  importance.  Hitherto  we  have  been  in  the  habit 
of  referring  to  the  period  of  youth  as  a  matter  of  fact 
only  important  at  all  because  some  instincts  of  biological 
significance  appear  then.  Xow  we  see  that  youth  proba- 
bly exists  for  the  sake  of  play.  x\nimals  can  not  be  said 
to  play  because  they  are  young  and  frolicsome,  hut 
rather  they  have  a  period  of  youth  in  order  to  play;  for 
only  by  so  doing  can  they  supplement  the  insufficient 
hereditary  endowment  with  individual  experience,  in 
view  of  the  coming  tasks  of  life.  Of  course  this  does  not 
exclude  other  grounds,  physiological  ones,  for  instance, 
for  the  phenomenon  of  youth;  but  so  far  as  concerns  the 
fitting  of  the  animal  for  his  life  duties,  play  is  the  most 
important  one. 

I  may  now  briefly  recapitulate.  Our  leading  ques- 
tion seems  to  be  as  to  the  play  of  the  young.  That  once 
adequately  explained,  the  play  of  adults  would  present 
no  special  difficulties.  The  play  of  young  animals  has 
its  origin  in  the  fact  that  certain  very  important  in- 
stincts appear  at  a  time  when  the  animal  does  not  seri- 


*  See  J.  IMark  Baldwin,  Mental  Development  in  the  Child  and 
the  Race,  1895,  p.  28  f. 


76  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

ously  need  them.  This  premature  appearance  can  not 
be  accounted  for  by  inherited  skill,  because  the  inherit- 
ance of  acquired  characters  is  extremely  doubtful.  Even 
if  such  inheritance  did  have  a  part  in  it,  the  explanation 
by  means  of  selection  would  still  be  most  probable,  since 
the  utility  of  play  is  incalculable.  This  utihty  consists 
in  the  practice  and  exercise  it  aifords  for  some  of  the 
more  important  duties  of  life,  inasmuch  as  selection  tends 
to  weaken  the  blind  force  of  instinct,  and  aids  more  and 
more  the  development  of  independent  intelligence  as  a 
substitute  for  it.  At  the  moment  when  intelligence  is 
sufficiently  evolved  to  be  more  useful  in  the  struggle  for 
life  than  the  most  perfect  instinct,  then  will  selection 
favour  those  individuals  in  whom  the  instincts  in  ques- 
tion appear  earlier  and  in  less  elaborated  forms — in 
forms  that  do  not  require  serious  motive,  and  are  merely 
for  purposes  of  practice  and  exercise — that  is  to  say, 
it  will  favour  those  animals  which  play.  Finally,  in 
estimating  the  biological  significance  of  play  at  its  true 
worth,  the  thought  was  suggested  that  perhaps  the  very 
existence  of  youth  is  largely  for  the  sake  of  play. 

The  animals  do  not  play  because  they  are  young,  but 
they  have  their  youth  because  they  must  play.* 

But  I  must  call  attention  to  another  important  phe- 
nomenon that  also  has  a  direct  relation  to  play,  name- 
ly, the  imitative  impulse.  It  was  remarked  in  the  pre- 
vious chapter  that  while  imitation  is  not  an  essential 
feature  of  play,  it  is  very  often  present.  This  is  a  suitable 
place  to  notice  this  important  subject,  which  will  con- 
stantly recur  in  the  progress  of  our  inquiry.     First,  it 

*  [The  author  here  adds  several  pages  in  which  he  suggests  that 
the  conscious  accompaniments  of  play — fully  described  in  later 
chapters — are  also  due  to  natural  selection ;  and  points  out  the 
"  play  comradeship  "  of  young  animals,  saying,  "  Daher  ist  die 
sociale  bedeutung  der  Spiele  ausserordentlich  gross."] 


PLAY  AND  INSTINCT.  77 

is   very   probable   that   imitation   is   itself   instinctive. 
True,  it  is  possible  to  conceive  of  the  imitative  im- 
pulse  as   of   individual   origin.      Wundt   teaches   that 
every  idea  of  movement  presses  to  fulfil  itself.     (Many 
psychologists  seek  to  reduce  even  the  will  to  such  ideas.) 
The  notion  of  the  movements  seen  in  others  is,  of  course, 
included,  and  trhis  is  the  imitative  impulse.*     But  an 
origin  so  entirely  individual  and  even  accidental  can 
hardly  be  attributed  to  an  impulse  of  such  enormous 
power.    Wundt  refers  to  the  impulses,  too,  as  hereditary 
phenomena,  and,  if  I  understand  him  aright,  does  not 
exclude  imitation,  f     Schneider  thus  expresses  himself 
on  the  subject:  "  Wundt  is  quite  right  in  regarding  ap- 
perception of  a  movement  idea,  and  the  feelings  con- 
nected with  it  as  a  direct  impulse  to  make  the  movement. 
And  the  word  idea  is  not  used  in  a  narrow  sense,  for 
even  the  perception  of  a  movement  awakens  this  impulse, 
and  is  the  cause  of  many  imitative  movements."  Schnei- 
der is,  how^ever,  of  the  opinion  that  the  development  of 
this  "intimate  causal  connection"  rests  in  both  cases 
on  heredity  (according  to  him,  indeed,  on  the  inheritance 
of  acquired  characters),  and  advances  as  an  explana- 
tory proof  of  this  the  fact  that  the  imitative  impulse 
is  restricted  to  cases  that  are  useful  to  the  individual. 
"When  a  young  lion  sees  a  fish  swimming  or  a  bird 
flying  he  hardly  feels  a  desire  to  swim  or  fly,  while 
the  old  lion's  movements  when  he  observes  them  arouse 
the  imitative  impulse  in  him,  because  he  is  disposed 
to  the  movements  by  heredity.     This  is  a  proof  that 


*  Wundt,  Phys.  Psych.,  fourth  edition,  p.  567  ff.  The  same 
thought  is  brought  out  by  James  Mill  in  his  Anal,  of  the  Phenom. 
of  the  Human  Mind.  1829,  vol.  ii.  chap.  xxiv. 

f  See  Vorlesungen  liber  Menschen-  und  Thierseele,  second  edi- 
tion, p.  433.    [Eng.  trans.,  pp.  388  ff.] 


78  THE  PLAY   OF  ANIMALS. 

apperception  should  not  be  regarded  as  only  a  move- 
ment idea,  for  if  that  were  all  it  is,  animals,  at  least, 
would  seek  to  imitate  every  motion  they  see,  and  we 
might  expect  to  see  a  child  at  once  begin  a  swaying 
motion  on  beholding  a  pendulum,  instead  of  reaching 
for  the  ball  of  it,  as  it  does."  * 

Spencer  also,  James,  and  Strieker,  regard  the  imita- 
tive impulse  as  an  inherited  instinct,  and  I  think  it  is 
safe  to  trust  these  psychologists,  f 

The  imitative  impulse  is  thus  found  to  be  an  instinct 
directly  useful  in  the  serious  work  of  life  among  most, 
and  presumably  among  all,  of  the  higher  gregarious  ani- 
mals. Its  simplest  manifestation  is  the  taking  to  flight 
of  a  whole  herd  as  soon  as  one  member  shows  fear.  J  A 
more  particular  case  is  seen  among  certain  domestic 
animals  that  blindly  follow  a  leader — a  fact  well  known 
to  the  crafty  Panurge  in  Eabelais's  grotesque  romance, 
when  during  the  voyage  he  wants  to  play  a  joke  on  the 
owner  of  a  flock  of  sheep.*  This  phenomenon,  which 
may  be  explained  by  the  principle  of  division  of  labour 
(for  in  this  way  one  animal  can  watch  for  the  whole 

*  Der  mensjchliche  Wille,  p.  811. 

+  Sully's  g^round  for  combating  this  view  (The  Ilnman  Mind, 
1892.  vol.  ii,  p.  218).  namely,  that  imitation  first  appears  in  a  child's 
fourth  month,  is.  of  course,  no  argument  against  tlie  heredity  of 
the  impulse.  [Baldwin  has  published  a  special  criticism  of  the 
arguments  against  the  instinct-view  of  imitation,  loc.  cii.;  and 
Bain,  who  formerly  did  not  accept  the  instinct-view,  has  recently 
adopted  it.  Of.  Baldwin.  Mind,  January,  1894,  p.  52;  and  Bain, 
Senses  and  Intellect,  fourth  edition,  p.  441.] 

X  According  to  Wallace,  the  white  back  of  many  animals  is  a 
signal  of  danger  for  inciting  their  comrades'  imitation  in  flight. 
Darwinism,  pp.  217  ff. 

*  He  persuaded  the  owner  to  sell  him  a  sheep,  chose  the  bell- 
wether, and  threw  him  overboard,  whereupon  the  whole  flock 
jumped  after  him  and  were  drowned. 


PLAY  AND  INSTINCT.  79 

flock),  is  also  useful  in  advancing  intellectual  develop- 
ment, since  selection  favours  young  animals  skilled  in  its 
use.  So  we  have  here  an  hereditary  instinct  that  is  even 
more  especially  adapted  than  that  of  play  to  render  many 
other  instincts  unnecessary,  and  thus  open  the  way  for 
the  development  of  intelligence  along  hereditary  lines 
that  can  be  turned  to  account  for  the  attainment  of 
qualities  not  inherited.  Young  animals,  even  some  not 
gregarious,  have  an  irresistible  impulse  to  imitate  any  ac- 
tion of  their  parents,  toward  which  their  instinctive  im- 
pulse is  very  weak,  and  they  learn  in  this  way  what  would 
never  be  developed  in  them  individually  without  this 
imitative  impulse.  The  examples  cited  from  Wallace 
can  be  explained  in  this  way.  They  do  not  argue  against 
instinct,  but  rather  show  that  many  instincts  are  becom- 
ing rudimentary  in  the  higher  animals  because  they  are 
being  supplanted  by  another  instinct — imitative  im- 
pulse. And  this  substitution  is  of  direct  utility,  for  it 
furthers  the  development  of  intelligence.  This  reminds 
us  of  the  teaching  of  Plato,  that  the  ability  to  learn  pre- 
supposes "  reminiscence  ^'  from  a  previous  existence.  By 
means  of  imitation  animals  learn  perfectly  those  things 
for  which  they  have  imperfect  hereditary  predispositions. 
We  then  reach  the  following  conclusion  in  our  play 
inquiry — namely,  that  all  youthful  play  is  founded  on 
instinct.  These  instincts  are  not  so  perfectly  developed, 
not  so  stamped  in  all  their  details  on  the  brain,  as  they 
would  have  to  be  if  their  first  expressions  were  to  be 
in  serious  acts.  Therefore  they  appear  in  youth,  and 
must  be  perfected  during  that  period  by  constant  prac- 
tice. At  the  same  time,  where  physical  movements  are 
concerned,  the  muscular  system  will  also  be  developed 
by  this  exercise  suitably  for  subsequent  serious  work — a 
result  which  would  not  be  attained  adequately  with- 


80  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

out  play.  In  this  way  we  can  explain  those  plays  re- 
ferred to  in  this  and  the  previous  chapter,  which  can  not 
be  designated  as  imitative  play,  such  as  the  gambolling 
of  young  creatures,  their  play  with  the  organs  of  mo- 
tion and  speech,  mock  fighting,  etc.  Besides  these  plays, 
which  are  founded  on  strongly  developed  instincts,  and 
can  therefore  be  practised  without  a  model,  there  are 
many  others  worthy  of  consideration:  those  in  which 
at  least  two  instincts  are  involved — one  an  impulse  only 
rudimentarily  present,  though  easily  aroused,  and  the 
other  the  accompanying  imitative  instinct.  To  this 
class  belong  the  instances  already  cited  of  young  birds 
learning  to  sing,  probably,  too,  the  barking  of  puppies, 
and  the  imitative  play  of  little  girls  whose  motherly 
tending  of  their  dolls  could  hardly  reach  the  perfec- 
tion in  which  we  see  it  without  imitation.  It  would  be 
certainly  hard  to  explain  the  choice  of  models  by  the 
different  sexes  without  hereditary  predisposition — why 
the  boy's  tin  soldiers  are  his  favourite  toys,  while  the 
little  girl  is  always  the  mother  and  housekeeper.  Final- 
ly, it  must  be  admitted  that  there  are  cases  where  the 
imitative  impulse  exceeds  the  limits  of  instinct  and 
apparently  works  alone,  as  when  apes  imitate  the  actions 
of  men,  when  parrots  learn  to  speak  intelligently,  and 
when  children  play  horse  cars,  railroad,  hunter,  teacher, 
and  the  like.  But  even  here  a  latent  desire  to  experi- 
ment contributes,  and  it  is  evident  how  necessary  such 
play  is  to  the  development  of  mind  and  body. 

We  now  have  all  the  principles  necessary  for  a  psy- 
chology of  play;  only  in  outline,  however.  All  refine- 
ments and  expansions  which  may  subsequently  be 
brought  to  light,  and  which  I  may  call  idealizations  of 
the  bald  play  instinct,  must  be  treated  later.  The  fol- 
lowing remarks  will  conclude  this  chapter: 


PLAY  AND  INSTINCT.  81 

Play  is  found  among  adult  animals.     A  creature 
that  once  knows  the  pleasure  of  play  will  derive  satis- 
faction from  it  even  when  youth  is  gone.    And  preserva- 
tion of  the  species  is  advanced  by  exercise  of  the  mind 
and  body  even  in  later  years.     I  have  a  dog  twelve 
years  old  that  still  shows  a  disposition  to  play  now  and 
then.     We  often  see  grown-up  animals  playfully  roll 
over  and  over  without  any  object,  and  many  birds  ap- 
pear to  sing  from  mere  sportiveness  without  relation  to 
courtship.    Proof  of  this  is  difficult  to  substantiate,  how- 
ever.    We  do  know  that  adult  cats  and  dogs  play,  but 
in  regard  to  other  animals  we  can  only  speak  of  proba- 
bihties.    If  the  playful  character  of  some  of  the  exam- 
ples which  I  cite  in  the  following  chapters  is  not  estab- 
lished beyond  a  doubt,  I  am  consoled  by  a  statement 
of  Darwin's,  made  with  great  emphasis  in  The  Descent 
of  Man:  *  "  Nothing  is  more  common  than  for  animals 
to  take  pleasure  in  practising  whatever  instinct  they 
follow  at  other  times  for  some  real  good.     How  often 
do  we  see  birds  which  fly  easily,  gliding  and  sailing 
through  the  air  obviously  for  pleasure?    The  cat  plays 
with  the  captured  mouse  and  the  cormorant  with  the 
captured  fish.    The  weaver-bird  when  confined  in  a  cage 
amuses  itself  by  neatly  weaving  blades  of  grass  between 
the  wires  of  the  cage.    Birds  which  habitually  fight  dur- 
ing the  breeding  season  are  generally  ready  to  fight  at 
all  times,  and  the  males  of  the  capercailzie  sometimes 
hold  their  Balzen  at  the  usual  place  of  assemblage  dur- 
ing the  autumn.    Hence  it  is  not  at  all  surprising  that 
male  birds  should  continue  singing  for  their  own  amuse- 
ment after  the  season  for  courtship  is  over." 


*  Descent  of  Man,  vol.  ii,  p.  60. 


CHAPTEE   III. 

THE    PLAY    OF   ANIMALS. 

The  following  treatise  forms,  so  far  as  I  know,  the 
first  attempt  at  a  systematic  treatment  of  the  play  of 
animals,  and,  in  view  of  the  unavoidable  difficulties  in- 
herent in  the  task,  I  wish  to  bespeak  the  reader's  indul- 
gence at  the  outset.  Modern  works  on  the  mental  life 
of  animals,  such  as  the  writings  of  Carus,  Schneider, 
Wundt,  Biichner,  Espinas,  Eomanes,  Lloyd  Morgan, 
Flourens,  Alix,  and  Foveau  de  Courmelles,  contain  only 
meagre  and  general  accounts  of  even  the  most  important 
plays.* 

Thus  Eomanes,  in  his  laborious  work.  Animal  In- 
telligence, which  in  the  edition  of  1892  numbers  five 
hundred  pages,  makes,  aside  from  the  play  of  ants 
and  dolphins,  only  a  few  incidental  observations  on  the 
play  of  birds,  dogs,  and  monke3^s.f 

The  great  significance  of  play  in  physical  and  men- 
tal development  seems  not  to  have  attracted  the  atten- 
tion of  psychologists  as  it  deserves  to  do.  Therefore  I 
hope  that  this  book,  in  spite  of  its  imperfections,  may 
contribute  to  the  result  that  in  the  future  every  ani- 

*  Among  older  works,  Scheitlin's  Thierseelenkunde  is  famous. 
+  The  observations  made  by  this  author's  sister  on  a  young  ape, 
included  in  the  book,  are  much  more  valuable. 

83 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  83 

mal   psychology   shall   contain   a   chapter   devoted   to 
play.* 

On  account  of  this  defect  in  the  specific  works  on  ani- 
mal psychology  I  have  been  obliged  to  seek  for  most 
of  my  material  from  other  sources,  and  especially  from 
such  books  as  contain  descriptions  of  the  habits  of  ani- 
mals, though  without  aiming  to  meet  the  requirements 
of  psychology.  Most  of  the  observations  described  are 
from  Naumann,  Bechstein,  Rengger,  Lenz,  Ch.  L.  and 
A.  E.  Brehm,  K.  and  E.  Miiller,  Tschudi,  Russ,  Diezel, 
Marshall,  Darwin,  Miss  Romanes,  Wallace,  and  Hudson. 
A.  E.  Brehm's  Thierlehen  is  the  richest  of  these.  It  is 
marred  by  the  attempt  to  humanize  the  actions  of  ani- 
mals, but  this  defect  is  not  injurious  to  his  descriptions 
of  plays.  The  examples  without  references  in  this  and 
the  next  chapter  are  from  it.  I  have  also  made  use  of 
such  periodicals  as  Gartenlaube  and  Der  Zoologisclien 
Garten.  I  have  examined  many  books  of  travel,  but 
usually  with  discouraging  results.  If  they  refer  to  the 
play  of  animals  at  all,  the  most  they  say  is  that  is  was 
"  amusing,"  or  "  astonishing,"  or  "  droll,"  or  "  ex- 
ceedingly funny,"  without  any  account  of  how  or  why. 
Such  a  description  as  that  of  the  young  gorilla  and 
some  other  animals  in  the  "  Loango  Expedition  "  forms 
a  notable  exception.  As  far  as  personal  observation 
goes,  I  am  familiar  with  the  habits  of  dogs,  as  I 
have  always  from  my  youth  had  various  breeds  of  them 
about  me;  and  also  I  have  collected  enough  material 
in  my  frequent  visits  to  the  zoological  gardens  to  fur- 
nish cases  of  some  kinds  of  play  from  my  own  obser- 
vation.    A  complete  review  of  all  animal  plays  is  not 

*  Alix  alone  ^ives  it  a  single  paragraph,  and  that  is,  of  course, 
totally  inadequate. 


84  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

possible  here;  indeed^  I  have  confined  myself  in  essen- 
tials to  phenomena  from  the  life  of  the  higher  orders, 
because  the  play  of  the  lower  ones  seems  to  me  to 
be  too  litle  known.  I  have  multiplied  examples  in 
those  departments  where  errors  of  judgment  are  most 
liable  to  occur,  and  can  only  be  set  right  by  such  ful- 
ness of  detail.  I  am  afraid  that  this  result  has  not 
always  been  accomplished,  however,  and  in  the  case 
of  the  so-called  love-plays  the  material  was  so  copious 
as  to  compel  me  to  suppress  much  that  was  interest- 
ing. 

There  is  no  difficulty  in  classifying  our  subject  if 
the  conception  developed  in  the  preceding  chapters  is 
accepted.  I  hope  that  no  essential  group  has  been 
left  out  of  the  following  table: 

1.  Experimentation. 

2.  ^Movement  plays. 

3.  Hunting  plays: 

a.  With  real  living  prey. 
h.  With  living  mock  prey. 
c.  With  lifeless  mock  prey. 

4.  Fighting  plays: 

a.  Teasing. 

&.  Tussling  among  young  animals. 

c.  Playful  fighting  among  grown  animals. 

5.  Love  plays: 

a.  Among  young  animals. 
&.  Ehythmical  movements. 

c.  The  display  of  beautiful  and  unusual  colours 

and  forms. 

d.  The  production  of  calls  and  notes. 

e.  The  coquetry  of  the  female. 

6.  Constructive  arts. 

7.  Xursing  plays. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  85 

8.  Imitative  plays. 

9.  Curiosity. 

This  arrangement  will  be  followed  in  order  through- 
out, except  that  I  have  treated  love  plays,  which  deserve 
more  than  superficial  elaboration,  in  a  separate  chap- 
ter, after  all  the  others. 

1.  Experimentation. 

In  opening  this  subject  we  are  at  once  confronted 
by  a  group  of  phenomena,  familar  enough  in  children, 
but  hardly  noticed  heretofore  in  the  psychology  of  ani- 
mals. The  term  experimentation  is  here  used  to  de- 
note such  movements  of  young  animals  as  enable  them 
first  to  win  the  mastery  over  their  own  organs,  and 
then  over  external  objects.  It  includes  stretching  and 
straining  the  limbs;  tasting,  seizing,  and  clawing;  gnaw- 
ing and  scratching;  exercising  the  voice  and  making 
other  sounds;  rending,  pulling,  tearing,  tugging,  kick- 
ing, lifting,  and  dropping  objects,  etc.  Such  experi- 
mental movements  are  of  fundamental  importance  for 
all  the  life  tasks  of  animals,  for  on  them  depends  the 
proper  control  of  the  body,  muscular  co-ordination,  etc.; 
and,  psychically,  they  promote  the  development  of  the 
perceptive  faculties,  such  as  space  perception,  atten- 
tion, will  power,  memory,  etc.  They  form  the  com- 
mon foundation  on  which  the  specialized  plays  are 
built  up.  Though  the  term  hardly  seems  quite  applica- 
ble to  all  the  examples  included  under  this  heading,  I  use 
it  in  default  of  a  better.  It  seems  to  have  originated, 
so  far  as  I  can  trace  its  use,  with  Jean  Paul,  who  speaks 
in  his  Levana  of  "  the  child's  experimental  physics,  op- 
tics, and  mechanics."  He  says,  "Children  take  the  great- 
est pleasure  in  turning  things  around,  in  lifting  them, 
sticking  keys  in  locks  or  anything  of  the  sort,  even  in 


86  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

opening  and  shutting  doors."  *  Later,  B.  Sigismund 
made  use  of  the  expression  in  his  serviceable  little 
book,t  and  Preyer  and  Sikorski  have  established  its  use 
in  modern  psychology. 

Since  the  babyhood  of  animals  is  so  much  shorter 
than  that  of  the  human  infant,  it  offers  much  less 
material  for  psychological  investigation,  and,  besides, 
there  is  no  Preyer  for  the  animals.  I  Still,  we  are  not 
entirely  without  material. 

"  With  the  stretching  of  his  limbs,'^  say  the  Miil- 
lers,  "  the  young  dog  begins  the  first  stage  of  his  baby 
play."*  Puppies  also  begin  very  early  to  gnaw  any 
wooden  object,  as  well  as  their  own  extremities,  with 
their  little  teeth,  sharp  as  needles.  Even  the  play  with 
their  tails  is  at  first  purely  experimental.  Afterward 
the  chase  instinct  comes  in,  when  the  end  seems  to 
vanish  so  mysteriously  as  they  whirl.  A  dog  that  I  once 
owned  was  so  small  and  weak  that  he  always  tumbled 
over  in  attempting  to  bark.  It  was  most  ludicrous  to 
witness  this  ignominious  ending  to  his  hostile  demon- 
strations. A  kitten,  too,  will  play  with  its  tail,  and 
exercise  the  claw-armed  paws  in  seizing  and  holding.  || 
Scheitlin  observed  a  young  panther  playing  with  its 
own  tail,^  and  Brehm  relates  how  pumas  at  the  age  of 

*  Jean  Paul.  Levana.  2d  ed.,  vol.  i.  p.  164. 

f  B.  Sigismund,  Kind  nnd  Welt,  1856,  p.  73. 

X  The  thoroughgoing  papers  of  Wesley  Mills  on  the  psychic 
development  of  young  animals  were  not  known  to  the  author  when 
this  passage  was  written.  They  were  published  in  1804 — 1896. 
[Prof.  Lloyd  Morgan's  observations  on  young  birds  should  also  be 
referred  to;  cf.  his  Habit  and  Instinct,  1869.J 

^  A.  and  K.  Miiller.  Charactere  aus  der  Thierwelt— 1.  Der  junge 
Hund,  Gartenlaube,  1867,  p.  455. 

II  As  Wesley  Mills  observed  on  the  twenty-ninth  day.  Loc. 
cit.,  part  ii.  ^  Thierseelenkunde,  ii,  p.  155. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  87 

from  five  to  six  weeks  play  with  their  mother's  tail, 
as  do  all  the  cat  tribe.  He  also  tells  of  a  young  fish-otter 
that  snapped  at  its  tail  and  fore  paws.  This,  however, 
appears  to  belong  rather  to  the  chase  phenomena,  as  it 
is  not  purely  experimental.  But  there  are  no  clearly 
defined  boundaries  between  general  experimentation 
and  specialized  plays.  The  cat  observed  by  Wesley  Mills 
touched  the  poker  (on  its  fifty-ninth  day),  which  was 
hot.  It  hissed,  but  soon  after  it  touched  it  again  "  in 
its  usual  persistent  way."  It  was  fond  of  knocking 
down  spools  from  the  table,  and  especially  delighted  in 
taking  pins  out  of  the  cushion. 

A  young  polar  bear  that  I  knew  often  lay  on  its 
back  and  bit  its  paws,  or  tried  to  tear  a  piece  of  paper, 
and  it  has  frequently  been  noticed  that  young  bears  make 
a  humming  kind  of  sound,  ending  with  a  smack,  when 
they  suck  their  paws.*  Falkenstein  relates  of  his  go- 
rilla, about  a  year  and  a  quarter  old:  "  He  delighted  in 
the  bath,  and  after  a  while  tried  to  help  himself  when 
I  did  not  appear  at  his  side  at  the  right  moment  with 
sponge  and  soap.  That  the  water  all  ran  out  of  the 
tub  in  a  few  moments  did  not  affect  his  enthusiasm. 
He  paddled  on  all  fours  in  the  wet,  like  the  little  dark- 
ies during  a  shower."  f 

Little  nestlings  make  fluttering  efforts  before  they 
can  fly,  and  young  sparrows  chirp  so  lustily  in  the  nest 
as  to  suggest  genuine  voice  practice.  "  Immediately  on 
being  hatched,"  says  Hermann  Miiller,  "the  young 
birds  begin  to  lift  up  their  voices.  Of  canaries,  gold- 
finches, siskins,  and  bullfinches  hatched  in  confinement, 
canaries  peeped  earliest  and  loudest,  bullfinches  latest 


*  L.  Brehm,  Bilder  aus  dera  Thiergarten  in  Hamburg— 2,  Un- 
sere  Baren,  Gartenlanbe,  p.  12. 

f  Falkenstein,  M-pungu,  Gartenlaube,  1876,  p.  556. 
8 


88  THE   PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

and  weakest,  suggesting  that  the  birds'  later  capacity 
for  singing  might  be  gauged  by  their  first  twittering. 
These  loud,  piercing  notes  are  by  no  means  signs  of 
hunger,  but,  on  the  contrary,  indicate  the  greatest  con- 
tentment, for  they  cease  at  once  when  the  mother  leaves 
them  and  cool  air  fills  the  nest." 

I  must  insert  here  a  remark  that  belongs  to  the 
idealization  of  play.  We  may  safely  assume  that  the 
satisfaction  of  instinctive  impulse  is  not  the  only  pleas- 
ure in  experimentation.  Even  in  the  animal  intelli- 
gence it  denotes  a  finer  psychical  state.  Preyer  calls 
the  satisfaction  it  affords,  pleasure  in  the  possession  of 
power,  in  "  being  a  cause  " — such,  for  example,  as  the 
child  feels  when  he  tears  a  paper  into  fragments.* 

Lessing  expressed  it  abstractly  when  he  said  that  we 
become  more  intensely  conscious  of  our  reality  by  means 
of  such  strong  excitations,  f  and  animals  may  have  the 
same  feeling  as  an  accompaniment  of  instinctive  ac- 
tivity, and  especially  of  playful  experimentation.  It 
may  be  lacking  in  the  very  earliest  infancy,  but  the 
little  polar  bear  that  delightedly  tore  the  paper  bag 
to  bits  certainly  felt  the  pleasure  of  "  being  a  cause  " — 
"in  working  his  own  sweet  will,''  as  Schiller  has  it  in  his 
Kunstlern.  This  principle  is  even  more  applicable  to 
the  examples  which  follow,  relating  as  they  do  to  more 
mature  animals.  Before  going  on,  however,  I  wish  to 
call  attention  to  the  absurd  form  this  pleasure  in  being 
a  cause  sometimes  takes  even  in  rational  beings.  How 
many  of  us  want  to  scribble  or  whittle  or  do  something 
with  our  hands  all  the  time,  to  break  a  twig  and  chew 
it  while  we  walk,  to  strike  the  snow  off  walls  as  we  pass, 

*  Die  Seele  des  Kindes,  p.  450. 

f  Letter  to  Mendelssohn,  February  2,  1757. 


THE  PLAY  OP  ANIMALS.  89 

to  kick  a  pebble  before  us,  to  step  on  all  the  acorns 
on  the  pavement,  to  drum  on  the  Avindow  pane,  to  hit 
the  wine  glasses  together,  to  roll  up  litle  balls  of  bread, 
etc.  Perhaps  to  this  category,  too,  belongs  that  inex- 
plicable piece  of  folly,  of  which  we  are  all  guilty,  that 
when,  for  instance,  a  perfectly  trustworthy  person  reads 
aloud  a  telegram  "  Can  not  come — Henry,''  we  are  never 
satisfied  till  we  read  it  ourselves. 

The  case  of  animals  is  much  like  our  own.  The 
impulse  to  experiment  continues  into  advanced  age, 
and  constantly  tends  to  rise  above  its  instinctive  ori- 
gin to  freer,  more  individual  activity,  so  that  the 
fully  developed  animal  probably  also  feels  some- 
thing of  the  pleasure  in  exercising  power,  in  being 
a  cause. 

Beckmann  says,  in  speaking  of  the  raccoon:  "  The 
caged  creature  devised  a  thousand  ways  to  relieve  the 
tedium  of  his  many  idle  hours.  Now^  he  would  sit  up 
in  a  corner  and,  with  a  most  serious  expression,  busy 
himself  with  binding  a  piece  of  straw  across  his  nose; 
now  he  played  absorbedly  with  the  toes  of  his  hind  feet, 
or  made  dashes  for  the  end  of  his  waving  tail.  Then, 
having  packed  a  quantity  of  hay  in  his  pouch,  he  lay 
on  his  back  and  tried  to  keep  the  mass  in  place  by  hold- 
ing his  tail  tightly  across  it  with  his  fore  feet.  Wlien- 
ever  he  could  get  at  masonry  he  gnawed  the  mortar  and 
did  incredible  damage  in  a  short  time.  Then  he  sits 
down,  like  Jeremiah  before  the  ruins  of  Jerusalem,  in 
the  midst  of  his  heap  of  rubbish,  looks  darkly  about, 
and,  exhausted  with  so  much  work,  loosens  his  col- 
lar with  his  fore  paws.  After  a  long  fit  of  sulks  he 
can  be  restored  to  good  humor  at  once  by  the  sight  of 
a  full  water  bucket,  and  he  will  make  any  effort  to  get 
near  it.     Then  he  proceeds  to  test  the  depth  of  the 


90  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

water  carefully,  for  when  he  is  playing  at  washing 
things  he  wants  to  dip  only  his  paws  in  the  water, 
not  at  all  liking  to  stand  in  it  up  to  his  neck.  After 
satisfying  himself  on  this  point,  he  steps  with  evident 
delight  into  the  wet  element  and  feels  about  on  the  bot- 
tom for  something  to  wash.  An  old  pot  handle,  a  bit  of 
porcelain,  a  snail  shell,  are  favourite  objects  for  his  pur- 
pose and  are  used  over  and  over  again.  Now  he  spies  an 
old  bottle  in  the  distance  which  appears  to  be  greatly  in 
need  of  washing.  He  reaches  for  it,  but  his  chain  is  too 
short,  so  without  hesitation  he  lies  down  as  a  monkey 
would  do,  gaining  in  that  way  the  length  of  his  body, 
and  rolls  the  bottle  toward  him  with  his  outstretched 
hind  foot.  The  next  moment  we  see  him  up  on  his 
hind  legs,  slowly  waddling  back  to  the  water,  the  big 
bottle  clasped  in  his  fore  paws  and  strained  against  his 
breast.  If  he  is  disturbed  in  his  attempt  he  behaves 
like  a  self-willed,  spoiled  child,  throwing  himself  on 
his  back  and  clinging  with  all  fours  so  tightly  to  his 
beloved  bottle  that  he  can  be  lifted  by  it.  When  he 
at  last  becomes  tired  of  his  work  in  the  water,  he  fishes 
his  plaything  out,  sits  cross-legged  and  rocks  to  and 
fro,  constantly  fingering  and  boring  into  the  narrow 
neck  of  the  bottle." 

This  so-called  washing  seems  to  be  characteristic  of 
various  kinds  of  bears  as  well.  I  myself  have  observed 
one  instance,  in  the  case  of  a  polar  bear  that  rolled  an 
iron  pot  to  and  fro  in  his  bath  tub,  taking  it  at  last  to  a 
little  trough  of  running  water  and  there  washing  the  in- 
destructible vessel  in  earnest.  It  was  very  funny  to  see 
the  bear  seize  it  firmly  with  his  fore  paws  and  go  through 
the  motions  of  a  washwoman  scrubbing  on  a  board. 
When  the  bath  was  freshly  cemented  in  this  bear  house 
the  animals  were  kept  out  of  it  for  a  day  after  the  work 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  91 

was  finished,  for  it  was  well  known  that  they  would  soon 
spoil  undried  cement  with  their  claws. 

The  following  relates  to  dogs  that  have  well  passed 
their  infancy.  It  may  be  called  experimentation  when 
a  dog  presses  or  rather  scratches  a  beetle  to  death  with 
his  paw,  as  they  are  given  to  doing  with  a  strange  mix- 
ture of  curiosity  and  aversion.  A  St.  Bernard,  three 
and  a  half  years  old,  that  I  formerly  owned,  spent  many 
hours  every  day  gnawing  to  bits  any  pieces  of  wood  he 
could  get  hold  of,  usually  from  our  wood  pile  unfor- 
tunately. 

Alix  tells  of  an  Arabian  dog  that  frequently  amused 
itself  playing  with  its  own  shadow  on  the  wall.  "  Now 
straightening  up  his  long  ears,  now  turning  them  to 
right  or  left,  now  throwing  them  back,  he  produced  in 
this  way  strange  figures  which  appeared  to  amuse  him 
greatly."  * 

A  trustworthy  person  once  told  me  of  a  dog  that 
had  played  so  much  with  the  damper  of  a  stove  that 
he  understood  perfectly  well  how  to  turn  it  on.  That 
he  ever  did  so  with  the  intention  of  raising  the  tem- 
perature seems  to  me  a  hazardous  statement. 

Some  of  the  examples  so  far  given  relate  to  the 
destructive  impulse,  which  is,  however,  only  an  ex- 
tended kind  of  experimentation.  Thus  Scheitlin  relates 
of  an  elephant :  f  "  How  amusingly  that  elephant  in 
Cassel  acted  when  his  attendant  forgot  him  in  his 
stable!  He  went  into  the  house,  collected  all  the  mov- 
ables— tables,  chairs,  stools,  pictures,  and  even  the  bed 
from  the  chamber — in  a  pile  in  the  sitting-room,  wet 
them  all  over,  and  walked  out  in  the  field  as  if  he  had 
not  been  at  any  mischief," 

*  E.  Alix,  L'esprit  de  nos  betes,  p.  440. 
f  Thierseelenkiinde,  ii,  p.  178. 


92  THE   PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

The  destructiveness  of  monkeys  is  proverbial.  They 
gnaw  boards  as  dogs  do — at  least  I  have  seen  it  done  by 
the  baboon  and  chimpanzee,  their  eating  trough  being 
badly  disfigured  in  that  way.  Long-tailed  monkeys 
amuse  themselves  by  breaking  off  tough  branches  as 
they  clamber  from  limb  to  limb.* 

The  book  of  daily  observations,  for  which  we  are 
indebted  to  Romanes's  sister,  is  full  of  examples  of 
experimentation.  It  relates  to  a  specimen  of  Cebus 
fatuellus  which  Romanes  gave  to  his  sister  in  Decem- 
ber, 1880.    The  following  description  is  from  her  diary: 

"  I  notice  that  the  love  of  mischief  is  very  strong 
in  him.  To-day  he  got  hold  of  a  wineglass  and  an 
egg-cup.  The  glass  he  dashed  on  the  floor  with  all  his 
might,  and  of  course  broke  it.  Finding,  however,  that 
the  egg-cup  would  not  break  for  being  thrown  down, 
he  looked  round  for  some  hard  substance  against  which 
to  dash  it.  The  post  of  the  brass  bedstead  appearing 
to  be  suitable  for  the  purpose,  he  raised  the  egg-cup 
high  above  his  head  and  gave  it  several  hard  blows. 
When  it  was  completely  smashed  he  was  quite  satis- 
fied. He  breaks  a  stick  by  passing  it  down  between  a 
heavy  object  and  the  wall,  and  then  hanging  on  to  the 
end,  thus  breaking  it  across  the  heavy  object.  He  fre- 
quently destroys  an  article  of  dress  by  carefully  pull- 
ing out  the  threads  (thus  unripping  it)  before  he  begins 
to  tear  it  with  his  teeth  in  a  violent  manner. 

"  In  accordance  with  his  desire  for  mischief,  he  is, 
of  course,  very  fond  of  upsetting  things,  but  he  always 
takes  great  care  that  they  do  not  fall  on  himself.  Thus 
he  will  pull  a  chair  toward  him  till  it  is  almost  over- 
balanced, then  he  intently  fixes  his  eyes  on  the  top 

*  Loango  Expedition,  ii,  p.  239. 


THE   PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  93 

bar  of  the  back,  and  when  he  sees  it  coming  over  his 
way,  darts  from  underneath  and  watches  the  fall  with 
great  delight;  and  similarly  with  heavier  things. 
There  is  a  washstand,  for  example,  with  a  heavy  marble 
top,  which  he  has  with  great  labour  upset  several  times, 
but  always  without  hurting  himself/'  * 

Vosmaern  had  a  tame  female  orano^-outancf  that 
could  untie  the  most  intricate  knots  with  fingers  or 
teeth,  and  took  such  pleasure  in  doing  it  that  she  regu- 
larly untied  the  shoes  of  those  who  came  near  her. 
Still  more  remarkable  is  the  dexterity  of  Miss  Komanes's 
monkey.  Her  entry  for  January  l-l,  1881,  runs  thus: 
"  To-day  he  obtained  possession  of  a  hearth-brush,  one 
of  the  kind  which  has  the  handle  screwed  into  the 
brush.  He  soon  found  the  way  to  unscrew  the  handle, 
and  having  done  that  he  immediately  began  to  try  to 
find  out  the  way  to  screw  it  in  again.  This  he  in  time 
accomplished.  At  first  he  put  the  wrong  end  of  the 
handle  into  the  hole,  but  turned  it  round  and  round 
the  right  way  of  screwing.  Finding  it  did  not  hold, 
he  turned  the  other  end  of  the  handle  and  carefully 
stuck  it  into  the  hole,  and  began  to  turn  it  the  right 
way.  It  was,  of  course,  a  very  difficult  feat  for  him  to 
perform,  for  he  required  both  his  hands  to  hold  the 
handle  in  the  proper  position  and  to  turn  it  between 
his  hands  in  order  to  screw  it  in,  and  the  long  bristles 
of  the  brush  prevented  it  from  remaining  steady  or 
with  the  right  side  up.  He  held  the  brush  with  his 
hind  hand,  but  even  so  it  was  very  difficult  for  him  to 
get  the  first  turn  of  the  screw  to  fit  into  the  thread; 
he  worked  at  it,  however,  with  the  most  unwearying 
perseverance  until  he  got  the  first  turn  of  the  screw 

*  Romanes,  Animal  Intelligence,  p.  484. 


94  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

to  catch,  and  he  then  quickly  turned  it  round  and 
round  until  it  was  screwed  up  to  the  end.  The  most 
remarkable  thing  was  that,  however  often  he  was  dis- 
appointed in  the  beginning,  he  never  was  induced  to 
try  turning  the  handle  the  Avrong  way;  he  always 
screwed  it  from  right  to  left.  As  soon  as  he  had  accom- 
plished his  wish  he  unscrewed  it  again,  and  then 
screwed  it  in  again,  the  second  time  rather  more  easily 
than  the  first,  and  so  on  many  times.  When  he  had 
become  by  practice  tolerably  perfect  in  screwing  and 
unscrewing,  he  gave  it  up  and  took  to  some  other 
amusement.  One  remarkable  thing  is  that  he  should 
take  so  much  trouble  to  do  that  which  is  of  no  material 
benefit  to  him.  ...  It  is  not  the  desire  of  praise,  as 
he  never  notices  people  looking  on;  it  is  simply  the 
desire  to  achieve  an  object  for  the  sake  of  achieving  an 
object,  and  he  never  rests  nor  allows  his  attention  to 
be  distracted  until  it  is  done."  *  The  report  for  Feb- 
ruary 10,  1881,  runs:  ^'^Ye  gave  him  a  bundle  of  sticks 
this  morning,  and  he  amused  himself  all  day  by  poking 
them  in  the  fire  and  pulling  them  out  again  to  smell 
the  smoking  end.  He  likewise  pulls  hot  cinders  from 
the  grate  and  passes  them  over  his  head  and  chest,  evi- 
dently enjoying  the  warmth,  but  never  burning  him- 
self. He  also  puts  hot  ashes  on  his  head.  I  gave  him 
some  paper,  and,  as  he  can  not  from  the  length  of 
his  chain  quite  reach  the  fire,  he  rolled  the  paper  up 
into  the  form  of  a  stick  and  then  put  it  into  the  fire, 
pulling  it  out  as  soon  as  it  caught  light,  and  watching 
the  blaze  in  the  fender  with  great  satisfaction.  I  gave 
him  a  whole  newspaper,  and  he  tore  it  in  pieces,  rolled 
up  each  piece,  as  I  have  described,  to  make  it  long 

*  Romnnes,  Animal  Intelligence,  p.  400. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  95 

enough  to  reach  the  fire,  and  so  burned  it  all  piece  by 
piece."* 

We  here  see  the  playful  experimentation,  which  at 
first  only  serves  the  purpose  of  gaining  control  of  the 
bodily  organs,  become  further  and  further  developed. 
Xo  doubt,  according  to  Darwin's  theory  of  evolution, 
primitive  man  acquired  the  ability  to  use  fire  by  just 
such  experimentation. 

The  destructive  impulse  is  manifested  even  more 
strongly  by  parrots  and  some  other  birds  than  by  mon- 
keys. Their  winter  quarters  are  often  patched  and 
mended  like  little  Eoland's  cloak  in  Uhland's  story, 
and  the  stronger  the  repairs  the  more  eagerly  do  the 
parrots  attack  them.  Linden  tells  of  the  persistence 
with  which  his  cockatoos  turned  over  the  feeding 
trough  in  their  cage.  "  I  have  used  every  device  to 
make  the  troughs  fast,  winding  fine  wire  about  them 
and  to  the  iron  bars,  screwing  them  tightly  from  the 
outside,  etc.,  but  my  cockatoos  know  very  well  how  to 
unscrew,  and  get  them  loose  sooner  or  later."  "  The 
desire  to  do  mischief  is  characteristic  of  the  cockatoo," 
says  Brehm,  "  and  the  performances  of  these  birds  pass 
belief.  They  gnaw  through  planks  five  or  six  centimetres 
thick,  as  I  can  testify  from  my  own  experience,  and 
even  iron  plates  a  millimetre  thick;  they  smash  glass, 
and  try  to  penetrate  masonry."  Eey  relates  of  Caro- 
lina parrots:  "  Their  favourite  mischief  was  throwing 
their  water-cups  out  of  the  cage  after  they  had  satis- 
fied their  thirst.  Their  delight  was  evident  if  the  cups 
broke."  And  Dickens  says,  with  delightful  exaggera- 
tion, of  a  raven  that  died  young:  "  It  may  have  been 
that  he  was  too  bright  a  genius  to  live  long,  or  it  may 

*  Romanes,  Animal  Intelligence,  p.  493. 


96  THE   PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

have  been  that  he  took  some  pernicious  substance  into 
his  bill,  and  thence  into  his  maw,  which  is  not  improba- 
ble, seeing  that  he  new-pointed  the  greater  part  of  the 
garden  wall  by  digging  out  the  mortar,  broke  count- 
less squares  of  glass  by  scraping  away  the  putty  all 
round  the  frames,  and  tore  up  and  swallowed,  in  splin- 
ters, the  greater  part  of  a  wooden  staircase  of  six  steps 
and  a  landing."  *  Brehm's  brother  had  ^  tame  vulture 
that  often  played  with  his  master's  fingers,  taking  them 
in  his  beak  without  hurting  them.  Another  bird  of 
the  same  kind,  observed  by  Girtanner,  tore  the  strong 
padding  of  his  cage  in  every  direction,  took  the  straw 
out  and  played  with  it.  He  also  clung  to  Girtanner's 
watch  chain  and  clothing,  "  pulled  straw  from  my 
hand,  chuckling  with  delight.  He  took  pleasure  in 
tearing  or  biting  straw  ropes,  and  came  to  me  at  once 
wdien  he  saw  that  I  was  getting  ready  to  make  one." 
Still  another  stroked  his  master  (Baldenstein)  with  his 
beak,  or  stuck  it  up  his  sleeve  and  uttered  his  contented 
"  Gich." 

Animals  often  amuse  themselves  by  making  noises. 
According  to  Scheitlin,  hares  can  readily  be  trained  to 
drum,  because  the  motion  is  natural  to  them.  "  They 
drum  with  unexampled  rapidity,  quicker  than  any 
drummer  boy,  and  even  with  a  sort  of  passion."  f  This 
enjoyment  of  noise  forms  part  of  their  pleasure  in 
breaking  and  tearing.  Experiments  with  apes  espe- 
cially illustrate  this.  Savage  thinks  that  chimpanzees 
collect  on  purpose  to  play,  on  those  occasions  when  they 
beat  with  rods  on  sounding  pieces  of  wood  X  This  re- 
mark, in  which  I  at  first  had  little  faith,  has  been  fully 

*  Introduction  to  Bamaby  Rudge. 

f  Thierseelenknnde,  ii,  p.  117. 

J  Romanes,  Animal  Intelligence,  p.  47G. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  97 

confirmed  by.  the  report  of  the  Loango  Expedition. 
Falkenstein  tells  there  of  a  young  gorilla:  "A  peculiar, 
almost  childish,  pleasure  was  awakened  in  him  by  strik- 
ing on  hollow,  sounding  bodies.  He  seldom  missed 
the  opportunity,  in  passing  casks,  dishes,  or  griddles, 
of  drumming  on  them.  On  our  homeward  voyage  he 
indulged  freely  in  this  pastime,  being  allowed  to  move 
about  on  the  steamer.^'  * 

The  same  gorilla,  too,  frequently  beat  on  his  own 
breast  with  both  fists,  "  apparently  from  overflowing  con- 
tentment and  sheer  pleasure,"  a  habit  which  in  the  adult 
usually  indicates  strong  emotion,  especially  anger. 

Voice  practice  is  very  common.  I  have  already 
spoken  of  a  puppy's  attempts  to  bark,  and  I  am  inclined 
to  think  that  even  the  howling  of  a  young  dog  may  be  a 
kind  of  play;  and  I  believe  the  same  is  true  of  young 
lions,  that  from  time  to  time  rise  up  and  give  forth 
frightful  roars  that  commonly  excite  the  others.  The 
purring  of  cats,  too,  is  like  play.  Then  there  are  the 
deafening  cries  of  the  howling  ape,  considered  by  many 
as  only  an  amusement.  The  wonder  is  that  the  animals 
have  attained  such  a  structure  of  the  larynx  as  to  be  able 
to  produce  them.  One  kind  of  ape  produces  a  flutelike 
note  resembling  the  whistle  of  a  bird,  for  which  the  lips 
are  contracted.  "  Usually  it  is  when  he  is  unemployed, 
and  seems  to  express  his  ennui  by  means  of  the  sound."  f 

In  many  cases  the  vocal  exercise  consists  in  learning 
by  heart  a  simple  or  complicated  decoy  cry  that  is 
usually  connected  with  courtship,  to  which  I  will  de- 
vote the  next  chapter.  A  single  other  example  of  voice 
practice  will  suffice,  as  it  is  a  very  valuable  one.    Hud- 

*  Loango  Expedition,  ii,  p.  154. 

f  Rengger,  Die  Saugethiere  von  Paraguay,  p.  45. 


98  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

son  relates  of  the  crested  screamer,  or  chakar  (Chauna 
cliavarria),  that  has  a  very  loud  voice:  '"  There  is  some- 
thing strangely  impressive  in  these  spontaneous  out- 
bursts of  a  melody  so  powerful  from  one  of  these  large 
flocks,  and,  though  accustomed  to  hear  these  birds  from 
childhood,  I  have  often  been  astonished  at  some  new 
effect  produced  by  a  large  multitude  singing  under  cer- 
tain conditions.  Travelling  alone  one  summer  day,  I 
came  at  noon  to  a  lake  on  the  pampas  called  Kakel,  a 
sheet  of  water  narrow  enough  for  one  to  see  across. 
Chakars  in  countless  numbers  were  gathered  along  its 
shores,  but  they  were  all  arranged  in  well-defined 
flocks,  averaging  about  five  hundred  birds  in  each  flock. 
These  flocks  seemed  to  extend  all  round  the  lake,  and 
had  probably  been  driven  by  the  drought  from  all  the 
plains  around  to  this  spot.  Presently  one  flock  near 
me  began  singing,  and  continued  their  powerful  chant 
for  three  or  four  minutes;  when  they  ceased,  the  next 
flock  took  up  the  strains,  and  after  it  the  next,  and 
so  on  until  the  notes  of  the  flocks  of  the  opposite  shore 
came  floating  strong  and  clear  across  the  water — then 
passed  away,  growing  fainter  and  fainter,  until  once 
more  the  sound  approached  me,  travelling  round  to  my 
side  again.  The  effect  was  very  curious,  and  I  was  as- 
tonished at  the  orderly  way  with  which  each  flock 
waited  its  turn  to  sing,  instead  of  a  general  outburst 
taking  place  after  the  flrst  flock  had  given  the  signal. 
On  another  occasion  I  was  still  more  impressed,  for  here 
the  largest  number  of  birds  I  have  ever  found  congre- 
gated at  one  place  sang  all  together.  This  was  on  the 
southern  pampas,  at  a  place  called  Gualicho,  where  I 
had  ridden  for  an  hour  before  sunset  over  a  marshy 
plain  where  there  was  still  much  standing  water  in  the 
rushy  pools,  though  it  was  at  the  height  of  the  dry 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  99 

season.  This  whole  plain  was  covered  with  an  endless 
flock  of  chakars,  not  in  close  order,  but  scattered  about 
in  pairs  and  small  groups.  In  this  desolate  place  I 
found  a  gaucho  and  his  family,  and  I  spent  the  night 
with  them.  .  .  .  About  nine  o'clock  we  were  eating 
supper  in  the  rancho,  when  suddenly  the  entire  multi- 
tude of  birds  covering  the  marsh  for  miles  around  burst 
forth  into  a  tremendous  evening  song.  It  is  impossible 
to  describe  the  effect  of  this  mighty  rush  of  sound.  .  .  . 
One  pecidiarity  was  that  in  this  mighty  noise,  which 
sounded  louder  than  the  sea  thundering  on  a  rocky 
coast,  I  seemed  to  be  able  to  distinguish  hundreds,  even 
thousands,  of  individual  voices. 

"  Forgetting  my  supper,  I  sat  motionless  and  over- 
come with  astonishment,  while  the  air  and  even  the  frail 
rancho  seemed  to  be  trembling  in  that  tempest  of  sound. 
"  ^\h.en  it  ceased,  my  host  remarked,  with  a  smile, 
'  We  are  accustomed  to  this,  sehor— every  evening  we 
have  this  concert.'  It  was  a  concert  wor^h  riding  a 
hundred  miles  to  hear."  * 

Much  might  be  said  of  the  twittering  of  sparrows, 
the  quacking  of  ducks  and  geese,  the  flapping  of  storks, 
etc.;  but,  as  has  been  remarked,  it  is  difficult  to  de- 
termine how  far  such  phenomena,  especially  the  com- 
plicated  ones,   are   connected   with   courtship.      I   re- 
serve for  the  next  chapter  a  closer  examination  of  them. 
However,  it  may  be  noted  here  that  in  merely  experi- 
mental noises  and  voice  practice  there  is  a  suggestion  of 
art  which  is  not  connected  with  courtship. 
2.  Movement  Plays. 
By  this  term  I  designate  plays  that  involve  change 
of  place  for  its  own  sake.     Hunting  and  fighting,  m- 
*  W.  H.  Hudson,  The  Naturalist  in  La  Plata,  1895,  p.  227. 


100  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

deed^  also  produce  change  of  place  to  a  considerable 
extent,  but  with,  them  the  movement  has  a  specific  aim. 
Here  I  refer  only  to  such  plays  as  are  concerned  with 
practice  in  locomotion  as  such,  where  the  walking,  run- 
ning, leaping,  climbing,  flying,  swimming  of  the  ani- 
mal finds  its  object  in  itself.  As  I  said  before,  I  pass 
by  the  lower  orders,  though  some  of  their  actions,  espe- 
cially the  swarming  of  insects,  is  very  suggestive  of 
play.  "  With  what  joy  in  life  insects  swarm  in  the 
sunshine!  ^^  says  Schiller;  and  Hudson  is  quite  of 
the  same  opinion  w^hen  he  says:  "I  have  spoken  of 
the  firefly^s  ^  pastime '  advisedly,  for  I  have  really  never 
been  able  to  detect  it  doing  anything  in  the  evening  be- 
yond flitting  aimlessly  about,  like  house  flies  in  a  room, 
hovering  and  revolving  in  company  by  the  hour,  appar- 
ently for  amusement."  *  It  may  well  be  that  animals 
quite  low  in  the  scale  of  being  play,  but  who  can  prove 
it  ?  "  Ludunt  in  aquis  pisces,"  says  Julius  Casar  Bu- 
lengerus.  Ii  it  true  that  the  fish  tumble  about  so  hap- 
pily in  their  element  ?  Is  not  this  supposition  rather  the 
product  of  aesthetic  sympathy — of  the  poetic  delight 
that  we  ourselves  experience  on  beholding  the  light, 
graceful  movements  of  these  delicate  creatures?  "In 
very  large  aquariums  or  in  its  native  waters  the  stickle- 
back swims  along  rapidly  and  gracefully,  often  leaping 
high  out  of  the  water,  indulging  in  many  gambols,  but 
careful  in  it  all  to  keep  watch  of  what  goes  before  it — 
namely,  the  young  fry  that  forms  its  principle  diet  " 
(Brehm).  How  are  we  to  know  in  such  a  case  that  all  the 
movements  do  not  serve  the  serious  business  of  getting 
food?  According  to  Xoll,  male  and  female  carp  chase 
one  another  playfully  and  delight  in  sportive  leaping. 

*  The  Naturalist  in  La  Plata,  p.  170. 


THE  PLAY   OF  AXIMALS.  IQl 

But  wko  can  say  that  sexual  instinct  is  not  responsible 
for  this  ?  And  the  same  may  be  said  of  the  art  of  the  fly- 
ing fish*  Brehm  says  of  them:  "  On  board  ship,  swarms 
of  such  fish  can  be  seen  at  varying  distances;  they  sud- 
denly rise  from  the  waves  with  a  peculiar  whirring  and 
shoot  rapidly  over  the  w^ater,  sometimes  rising  to  a 
height  of  four  or  five  metres  from  the  surface  and  trav- 
elling a  hundred  to  a  hundred  and  twenty  metres  before 
vanishing  again  in  the  waves.  Xot  seldom  this  spec- 
tacle is  quickly  repeated,  for  as  soon  as  one  company 
rises,  flies  forward  and  falls,  another  begins  to  advance 
in  the  same  way,  and  before  it  sinks  a  third  and  fourth 
are  on  tlie  way.  If  these  advances  were  made  in  a  con- 
tinuous direction  w^e  might  suppose  that  their  flight 
over  the  waves  was  to  escape  some  danger.  But  they 
appear  now  here,  now  there,  and  keep  to  no  particular 
direction,  but  fly  across  and  contrary  to  one  another. 
"We  can  only  suppose,  therefore,  that  it  is  all  a  play, 
perhaps  from  pure  exuberance  of  spirits,  just  as  other 
flsh  swim  rapidly  over  the  water."  Humboldt  expresses 
the  same  view  of  flying  fish.  The  sceptic  may,  of  course, 
question  whether  all  the  motions  described  may  not  be 
attributed  to  flight  or  the  search  for  food.  Yet  such  an 
animal  psychologist  as  Eomanes  speaks  with  great  as- 
surance of  the  play  of  fishes.*  He  says:  "Nothing  can 
well  be  more  expressive  of  sportive  glee  than  many  of 
their  movements."  f 

I  am  by  no  means  so  fully  convinced  as  Eomanes, 
but  still  I  consider  it  highly  probable  that  movement 
plays  are  manifested  by  fish.  Their  comparatively  weak 
mental  endowment  is  not  a  difficulty  to  me,  since  I  re- 


*  Mental  Evolution  in  Animals,  p.  382. 
f  Animal  Intelligence,  p.  247. 


102  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

gard  play  as  at  first  an  instinct,  producing  activity 
without  serious  motive.  There  can  be  no  question  that 
they  often  seem  to  play  as  they  tumble  about,  and  Ko- 
manes  himself  can  offe-r  no  more  convincing  proof  than 
that.  The  intelligence  of  fish  is  not,  however,  so  in- 
ferior as  is  commonly  supposed,  and  the  probability  that 
they  have  movement  plays  becomes  apparent  from  the 
following  observation  of  Beneke.  He  studied  the  hab- 
its of  Macropods  thoroughly,  and  made  a  report  on 
them  in  Brehm^s  Thierleben,  including  a  detailed  ac- 
count of  the  courtship  of  these  fish:  "  The  male  usual- 
ly, though  not  invariably,  keeps  to  one  particular  fe- 
male. On  approaching  her  he  extends  his  tail  and  fins, 
and  grows  perceptibly  darker,  while  the  female  either 
remains  perpendicular,  all  her  fins  closely  compressed, 
and  circles  slowly  round,  or  swims  as  the  male  does, 
though  in  the  opposite  direction.  Then  they  turn  slow- 
ly in  circles  together,  the  tail  of  one  in  front  of  the 
other's  head,  both  with  stiffly  distended  fins.  If  they 
become  greatly  excited  during  the  play,  the  male  trem- 
bles while  he  spreads  himself,  very  much  as  a  cock  does 
when  he  struts  around  the  hens,  and  the  female  often 
imitates  this."  When  his  male  fish  died  Beneke  secured 
another  pair,  and  he  says  that  the  two  females  played 
together  in  the  same  way.  The  playful  character  of 
this  can  hardly  be  questioned,  and,  having  admitted  one 
case,  we  can  not  deny  that  much  of  the  tumbling  about 
in  the  water  may  really  be  playful.  Of  birds,  however, 
we  can  speak  with  greater  certainty.  There  are,  it  is 
true,  many  phenomena  which  have  the  appearance  of 
play,  but  really  belong  to  the  search  for  food.  Nothing, 
for  instance,  seems  freer,  lighter,  or  more  aimless  than 
the  flight  of  swallows  in  spring,  and  yet  we  know  that 
the  impulse  to  satisfy  their  hunger,  and  not  sportiveness, 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  103 

is  the  reason  for  it.  The  same  is  true,  as  a  rule,  of  the 
cheerful  hopping  of  birds  from  bough  to  bough  and  to 
the  ground.  Courtship,  too,  is  at  the  bottom  of  much  of 
the  playful  motion,  as  well  as  of  voice  practice.  Ee- 
f  erring  this  class  to  the  next  chapter,  I  here  confine  my- 
self to  a  series  of  examples,  most  of  which  can  be 
attributed  with  certainty  to  purely  play  impulse,  and 
the  remainder  with  great  probability.  First  we  notice 
the  learning  to  fly,  swim,  or  walk  by  young  birds. 

Birds  can  no  more  fly  of  themselves  than  babies  can 
walk.  The  infant's  kicking  corresponds  to  the  flutter- 
ing of  httle  birds  in  the  nest  and  his  first  step  to  its 
first  attempt  at  flight.  The  tiny  creature  is  very  timid, 
and  hardly  dares  to  trust  itself  in  the  air.  According  to 
Hermann  Miiller's  observation,  a  canary  bird  makes  its 
first  attempt  to  climb  up  on  the  nest  rim  on  about  the 
sixteenth  day.  Weinland  gives  a  detailed  account  of  a 
canary  family:  "  Sixteenth  day,  8  a.  m.:  The  young  dare 
not  climb  out  of  the  nest,  but  reach  and  stretch  a 
great  deal.  10  a.m.:  Amid  great  tumult  one  fluttered 
onto  the  rim  of  the  nest  and  perched  there,  breathing 
hard  and  fast,  appearing  to  be  frightened  at  his  own 
daring.  In  a  minute  the  forward  youngster  is  back  in 
the  nest.  Seventeenth  day,  7  a.  m.:  The  feet  as  yet  serve 
only  as  wide  supports,  like  those  of  the  ostrich,  and  not 
for  dexterously  clinging  to  boughs,  as  will  be  their  later 
function.  Twelve  o'clock:  Little  Blackhead,  the  strong- 
er one,  has  hopped  out  on  the  perch  near  the  nest  and 
down  on  the  floor  of  the  cage,  and  from  there  through 
the  door  of  another  cage,  then  quickly  back.  The  little 
feet  are  still  very  unsteady,  especially  on  the  perch.  On 
the  ground  he  sometimes  steadies  himself  with  his  tail, 
a  use  which  is  not  made  of  it  in  later  life.  Eighteenth 
day:  Both  little  ones  have  hopped  about  in  the  cage 
9 


104  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

several  times  for  some  minutes  and  then  back  into  the 
nest.  Blackhead  is  always  the  leader.  Twentieth 
day:  Blackhead  flew  out  of  the  cage;  he  found  no  place 
to  light,  fluttering  high  in  the  air  all  the  time.  He  made 
the  rounds  of  the  ceiling  several  times,  and  at  last,  tired 
out,  he  fluttered  down  the  wall  to  the  floor.  Twenty- 
first  day:  The  yellow  one  also  flies  out  in  the  room  now. 
They  can  not  find  the  way  back  yet.  Twenty-third  day: 
Blackhead  took  a  bath.  He  plunged  into  the  large 
shallow  basin,  made  some  awkward  fluttering  motions, 
and  hurried  out  on  the  other  side.  Twenty-fourth  day: 
Both  birds  fly,  eat,  bathe,  and  make  their  toilet  alone.^^  * 

Dr.  Krauss  writes  of  the  flying  lessons  of  young 
storks:  "  As  soon  as  the  young  can  stand  firmly  and  get 
to  the  edge  of  the  nest,  preparations  for  fiight  begin. 
Flapping  their  wings,  they  move  round  the  nest,  at  first 
without  rising  above  it.  Then  with  a  kind  of  hop  they 
go  a  little  higher,  always  hovering  over  the  nest  and 
keeping  up  this  climbing  process  until  they  are  at  least 
a  yard  or  two  above  it;  they  are  able  to  continue  the 
hovering  a  half  minute  or  longer,  after  which  they  anx- 
iously cling  to  the  horizontal  projection  of  the  nest. 
Only  when  this  has  been  repeated  several  times  do  they 
break  the  magic  circle,  gliding  boldly  out  into  the  open 
air,  describing  in  their  flight  a  circle  fifty  or  sixty 
metres  in  diameter,  above  the  nest.  They  repeat  this 
once,  and  then  either  fly  back  to  the  nest  or  rest  on 
some  neighbouring  roof.  At  the  end  of  July  or  the  be- 
ginning of  August  begins  the  practice  in  high  flying, 
preparatory  to  the  great  migration.^'  f 

The  parents  of  sparrows,  shy  of  flight,  urge  them  on 

*  A  Bird  Family,  Der  Zoolopsche  Garten,  June,  1891. 
•f  Krauss,  Aus  dem  Freileben  des  Weissen  Storchs,  Der  Zoolo- 
gischen  Garten,  ix  (1868),  p.  131. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  105 

by  holding  food  before  them  and  flying  on  with  the 
dainty  morsel,  uttering  encouraging  calls.* 

"  In  the  spring  of  1872/'  writes  Liebe  to  Brehm, 
"  I  noticed  a  pair  of  falcons  circling  over  a  wood.    They 
were  the  terror  of  cranes  living  in  that  region.     I  hap- 
pened to  be  passing  there  daily,  and  saw  that  for  eight 
days  one  of  the  falcons  came  every  evening  to  the  wood 
and  perched  in  a  tree  for  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 
After  that  he  flew  searchingly  around  the  valley  from 
time  to  time.    I  thought  that  the  female  must  have  been 
shot,  but  this  suspicion  was  not  confirmed.    After  some 
days  she  came  again  to  the  wood  with  the  male  at  the 
usual  hour,  between  6  and  7  p.  m.,  accompanied  also  by 
two  young  ones,  which  were  still  so  helpless  as  hardly  to 
be  able  to  keep  their  equilibrium  when  perching  in  the 
trees.    Soon  both  the  old  birds  were  skimming  through 
the  air,  flying  against  the  wind  in  their  play.    A  beauti- 
ful performance,  which  I  had  once  seen  in  N'orway,  and 
once    by    the    male    of    this    same    pair.      The    male 
soon  settled  down,  but  the  female  kept  up  her  won- 
derful  evolutions,    constantly   drawing   nearer   to   the 
young  ones,  till  at  last  she  shoved  one  of  them,  with  a 
side  push,  from  the  bough,  whether  with  her  wings  or 
breast  my  glass  was  not  strong  enough  for  me  to  see. 
The  little  one  must  fly  whether  willing  or  no,  and  after 
clumsily  trying  to  imitate  the  movements  of  the  old 
bird,  it  soon  lit  again.     Thereupon  the  mother  pushed 
the  other  one  off  its  high  perch  and  compelled  it  to  fly 
Hke  the  first.     Shortly  they  made  both  the  young  ones 
practice  together,  drove  them  aloft  slantingly  against 
the  wind,  shot  perpendicularly  down  and  then  up  again 
in  splendid  curves,  and  displayed  all  the  skill  that  be- 


*  A.  and  K.  Miiller,  Thiere  der  Heimath,  i,  p.  28. 


106  THE  PLAY  OF   ANIMALS. 

longs  to  their  kind.  The  little  ones,  trying  to  do  the 
same  things,  awkwardly  imitated  their  movements." 
Such  actions  are  not  rare  in  the  animal  world,  where 
play  and  instruction  are  united,  though  in  this  case,  with 
Brehm,  too  much  is  made  of  the  analogy  to  human  con- 
duct.* 

I  class  the  learning  to  swim  of  aquatic  birds  among 
play  movements.  Here,  too,  the  parents  assist  instinct, 
and  so  hasten  their  preparation  for  life's  tasks.  Old 
swimming  birds  take  their  young  on  their  backs  and 
then  slide  them  oif  into  the  water — a  very  simple  meth- 
od, by  which  many  a  boy  has  been  taught  to  swim. 
Julius  Tape  gives  a  very  beautiful  description.  He  lived 
for  a  long  time  on  the  Danube,  and  "  often  noticed  that 
young  geese  were  afraid  of  the  water  before  they  learned 
to  swim,  and  only  gradually  became  accustomed  to  it 
by  being,  as  it  were,  outwitted  by  the  old  ones.  As  soon 
as  the  little  ones  are  old  enough  to  go  on  the  water 
their  parents  take  them  to  the  bank.  The  gander  goes 
before,  keeping  up  a  continual  gabble,  and  the  mother, 
also  gabbling,  urges  them  on  from  behind.  After  a 
very  short  trial  of  swimming  the  young  ones  are  quick- 
ly brought  back  to  land,  and  this  trial  is  repeated  and 
lengthened  from  day  to  day  until  they  go  into  the 
water  alone."  f  That  swimming  is  not  entirely  an  ac- 
quired art,  however,  but  instinctive  in  part,  is  proved  by 
the  case  of  ducks  hatched  by  a  hen.  How  Blichner 
can  find  an  argument  against  instinct  in  the  fact  that 
these  little  ducks  need  a  longer  time  to  become  accus- 
tomed to  the  water  I  can  not  see.     Hermann  Miiller 

*  So  in  the  teaching  of  young  beasts  of  prey  to  seize  their 
victim. 

f  L.  Blichner,  Aus  dem  Geistesleben  der  Thiere,  p.  31. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  107 

says  of  young  birds  learning  to  walk:  "  The  first  move- 
ments seem  to  be  not  on  the  toes,  but  on  the  heels. 
If  they  are  hurried,  the  birds  tip  forward,  steadying 
themselves  with  their  Vvings."  Biichner  describes  the 
walking  of  little  chickens,  from  Stiebeling's  observa- 
tions: "The  chicken  begins,  probably  about  two  hours 
after  it  breaks  the  shell,  to  make  feeble  attempts  at 
walking,  in  which  the  wings  serve  as  crutches.  He 
rises  and  sinks  again,  falls  down  and  gets  up  again,  so 
that  the  whole  process  is  more  a  slide  than  a  walk.  It 
learns  to  walk  in  from  five  to  eight  hours  if  its  mother 
helps  it,  but  from  eight  to  sixteen  hours  are  needed 
if  the  chicks  are  separated  from  the  hen  as  soon  as 
hatched."  * 

Such  movements  can  of  course  be  considered  as 
play  only  so  long  as  they  are  simply  exercise.  As  soon, 
as  the  bird  is  far  enough  on  to  turn  his  flying  to  ac- 
count in  the  search  for  food,  play  changes  to  seri- 
ous activity.  This  transition  takes  place  very  quickly 
in  birds,  but  their  short  time  for  practice  is  just  as 
really  a  playtime  as  is  the  longer  period  of  beasts  of 
prey. 

Some  phenomena  belonging  to  migration  ought  per- 
haps to  be  mentioned  in  this  connection.  That  this 
impulse  is  instinctive  is  witnessed  to  by  the  classic  orni- 
thologist Naumann,  in  a  passage  already  quoted.  "  The 
impulse  to  seek  a  warmer  climate,"  he  says,  "  is  heredi- 
tary in  these  birds.  Young  birds  taken  from  the  nest 
and  placed  in  a  large  room,  where  they  are  allowed  to 
fly  about  freely,  prove  this  conclusively.  They  are  rest- 
less at  night  during  the  season  for  their  migration,  just 


*  IbifL.  p.  31.     From  Stiebeling's  Instinct  in  Chickens  and 
Ducks,  New  York,  1872. 


108  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

as  old  birds  of  their  kind  are."  *  Before  the  time  for 
their  departure  migratory  birds  are  fond  of  collecting 
in  large  flocks,  and  this  can  only  be  regarded  as  play,  es- 
pecially in  the  case  of  the  young,  preparatory  for  the 
long  flight.  Thus,  in  the  spring,  young  nightingales 
take  little  experimental  trips  from  shrub  to  shrub  and 
field  to  field.  It  is  the  same  with  the  young  of  the 
whitethroat,  bower  bird,  song  thrush,  and  many  other 
kinds  of  birds,  f  Though  it  is  doubtful,  as  I  have  said, 
whether  the  so-called  flying  games  of  adult  birds  are 
movement  plays,  I  will  include  a  couple  of  such  exam- 
ples. Scheitlin  tells  of  a  young  crane:  "He  went  to 
the  field  with  his  master,  rose  in  the  air  of  his  own 
accord  and  with  evident  pleasure,  tumbled  about  some, 
and  then  came  down  and  walked  by  his  master's  side.'' 
Hudson  relates  of  the  wonderful  crested  screamer: 
"  I  was  once  very  much  surprised  at  the  behaviour  of  a 
couple  of  chakars  during  a  thunderstorm.  On  a  sultry 
day  in  summer  I  was  standing  watching  masses  of 
black  cloud  coming  rapidly  over  the  sky,  while  a  hun- 
dred yards  from  me  stood  the  two  birds,  also  apparently 
watching  the  approaching  storm  with  interest.  Pres- 
ently the  edge  of  the  cloud  touched  the  sun  and  a  twi- 
light gloom  fell  on  the  earth.  The  very  moment  the 
sun  disappeared,  the  birds  rose  up  and  soon  began  singing 
their  long-sounding  notes,  though  it  was  loudly  thun- 
dering at  the  time,  while  vivid  flashes  of  lightning  lit 
the  black  cloud  overhead  at  short  intervals.  I  watched 
their  flight  and  listened  to  their  notes,  till  suddenly,  as 
they  made  a  wide  sweep  upward,  they  disappeared  in 

*  J.  A.  Naumanii,  Naturgeschichte  der  Vogel  Deutschlands,  i, 
p.  86. 

f  A.  and  K.  MuUer,  Thiere  der  Heimath,  i,  p.  81. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  109 

the  cloud,  and  at  the  same  moment  their  voices  became 
muffled,  and  seemed  to  come  from  an  immense  distance. 
The  cloud  continued  emitting  sharp  flashes  of  lightning, 
but  the  birds  never  reappeared,  and  after  six  or  seven 
minutes  once  more  their  notes  sounded  clear  and  loud 
above  the  muttering  thunder.  I  suppose  they  had 
passed  through  the  cloud  into  the  clear  atmosphere 
above  it,  but  I  was  extremely  surprised  at  their  fearless- 
ness." The  beautiful  floating  motions  of  birds  of  prey 
are  principally  for  reconnoitring,  and  are  also  connected 
with  courtship,  but  it  may  well  be  supposed  that  the 
birds  sometimes  exercise  their  skill  from  pure  pleasure 
in  the  movement.  Darwin  tells  us  that  the  condor  gives 
a  splendid  exhibition,  floating  for  half  an  hour  with- 
out a  movement  of  the  wings,  describing  great  circles, 
rising  and  falling  in  beautiful  curves. 

What  has  been  said  with  regard  to  the  art  of  flying 
applies  also  to  the  dancing  of  many  birds,  except  that 
I  consider  the  connection  with  sexual  instinct  closer 
in  the  latter  case,  where  many  of  the  movements  are 
highly  specialized.  Hudson,  on  the  contrary,  regards 
the  dances  of  birds  as  purely  playful,  originating  in 
cheerful  spirits.  Although  I  do  not  agree  with  him,  I 
must  admit  that  the  sexual  explanation  is  impossible  in 
the  case  of  one  of  his  examples.  He  is  speaking  of  the 
spur-winged  lapwing,  that  resembles  the  European  lap- 
wing, but  is  a  third  larger,  more  highly  coloured,  and 
furnished  with  spurs  on  its  wings.  Three  individuals 
are  required  to  perform  their  dance,  which,  according 
to  Hudson,  is  unique  in  this  respect.  "  The  birds  are 
so  fond  of  it  that  they  indulge  in  it  all  the  year  round 
and  at  frequent  intervals  during  the  day,  also  on  moon- 
light nights.  If  a  person  watches  any  two  birds  for 
some  time — for  they  live  in  pairs — he  will  see  another 


110  THE   PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

lapwing,  one  of  a  neighbouring  couple,  rise  up  and  fly 
to  them,  .  .  .  and  is  welcomed  with  notes  and  signs 
of  pleasure.  Advancing  to  the  visitor,  they  place  them- 
selves behind  it;  then  all  three,  keeping  step,  begin  a 
rapid  march,  uttering  resonant  drumming  notes  in  time 
with  their  movements.  .  .  .  The  march  ceases;  the 
loader  elevates  his  wings  and  stands  motionless  and 
erect,  still  uttering  loud  notes;  while  the  other  two, 
with  puffed-out  plumage  and  standing  exactly  abreast, 
stoop  forward  and  downward  until  the  tips  of  their 
beaks  touch  the  ground,  and,  sinking  their  rhythmical 
voices  to  a  murmur,  remain  for  some  time  in  this  pos- 
ture. The  performance  is  then  over,  and  the  visitor 
goes  back  to  his  own  ground  and  mate  to  receive  a  visit- 
or himself  later  on.'^  *  If  this  description  is  entirely 
accurate,  the  foregoing  will  probably  long  remain  one 
of  the  unsolved  riddles  of  animal  life. 

Finally,  the  swinging  tliat  gives  such  pleasure  to 
many  birds  must  be  included  in  the  list  of  movement 
plays.  Every  one  knows  how  captive  parrots  and  cana- 
ries love  to  swing  on  a  ring,  and  it  appears  from  the 
observation  of  Naumann  that  birds  often  cling  to 
the  highest  tip  of  a  swaying  bough  to  s^\1ng  on  it. 
He  has  seen  the  blue  titmouse,  the  bearded  titmouse, 
penduline  titmouse,  thistle  finch,  barley  bird,  birch 
siskin,  and  others  do  this.f 

But  I  must  now  leave  the  interesting  world  of  birds 
and  turn  to  some  other  phenomena.  Finsch  has  ob- 
served the  habits  of  seals  in  the  vicinity  of  San  Fran- 
cisco, and  describes  them  graphically.    While  the  move- 

*  The  Naturalist  in  La  Plata,  p.  269. 

f  J.  A.  Nanmann.  Naturgcschichte  der  Vogel  Deutschlands,  ir, 
pp.  67,  68,  88,  107,  120;  v,  pp.  134,  163,  182. 


THE  PLAY   OF  ANIMALS.  m 

ments  of  these  lumbering  animals  on  land  are  remark- 
able, it  is  in  the  water  that  their  skill  is  most  admirably 
displayed.  They  may  be  seen  plunging  into  the  sea, 
either  sliding  down  the  smooth,  sloping  sand  banks  or 
throwing  themselves  from  a  high  rock;  then  they  carry 
on  their  play  like  dolphins,  rapidly  throwing  themselves 
over  so  that  the  belly  is  uppermost,  and  sometimes 
springing  entirely  out  of  the  -water.  They  swim  round 
in  circles,  now  and  then  leaping  up,  splash  about,  whirl- 
ing and  turning  and  tumbling  about  like  mad,  and  so 
entirely  forgetting  themselves  that  the  wary  hunter 
can  easily  come  within  harpooning  distance  and  capture 
them.  The  behaviour  of  seals  in  captivity  is  equally  re- 
markable. 

In  speaking  of  dolphins,  Losche  says:  "  Every  sea- 
man is  delighted  to  see  a  school  of  dolphins.  The 
cheery  travellers  hurry  along  through  the  swelling  waves 
in  a  long  and  regular  train,  pursuing  their  way  with  a 
speed  that  suggests  a  race,  and  with  leaps  of  Avonderful 
agility.  Their  glittering  bodies  rise  in  the  air  in  fine 
curves  from  one  to  two  yards  wide,  fall  headlong  into 
the  water,  and  soon  spring  up  again,  carrying  on  the 
game.  The  j  oiliest  of  the  flock  turn  somersaults  in  the 
air,  turning  up  their  tails  in  a  most  comical  manner. 
Others  fall  flat  on  side  or  back,  and  still  others  remain 
bolt  upright,  dancing  along  with  the  help  of  their  tails 
until  they  have  made  three  or  four  forward  move- 
ments. They  no  sooner  see  a  ship  under  full  sail  than 
they  turn  about  and  follow  it,  and  then  begins  real 
sport.  They  circle  around  the  vessel,  leap  in  front  of  it, 
and  make  the  best  possible  exhibition  of  their  skill. 
The  faster  the  boat  moves  the  more  riotous  their  an- 
tics." Brehm  gives  this  description  of  the  exercise  of  a 
cao:ed  marten:  "  He  amused  himself  for  hours  at  a  time 


112  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

making  bounds  that  brought  him  to  one  wall  of  his  cage, 
Avhere  he  quickly  turned  and  sj^rang  back,  landing  in 
the  middle  of  the  floor,  then  to  the  other  wall  and  back 
— in  short,  describing  the  figure  8,  and  with  such  rapid- 
ity that  its  outline  seemed  to  be  formed  of  the  animal's 
body/'  * 

A  caged  fox  that  I  have  observed  behaved  in  the 
same  way,  except  that  his  motion  was  in  a  circle,  because 
on  leaping  to  one  wall  he  rebounded  to  the  opposite  one, 
and  only  then  came  to  the  floor.  Every  visitor  to  zo- 
ological gardens  or  menageries  is  familiar  with  the  tiger's 
ceaseless  walking  up  and  dow^n,  the  constant  waving  to 
and  fro  of  the  badger's  and  bear's  fore  paws,  and  other 
such  motions.  They  are  all  playful,  and  are  the  best 
possible  examples  of  discharge  of  superabundant  nerve 
force;  for,  of  course,  caged  animals  do  not  have  a  suffi- 
cient outlet  for  their  energies.  However,  the  kind  of 
movement  is  not  determined  by  outward  circumstances, 
but,  like  all  play,  rests  on  an  instinctive  basis.  A  hunter, 
cited  by  Tschudi,  testifies  that  the  badger  when  wild  and 
free  and  especially  comfortable  waves  his  fore  paws  in- 
dolently. The  decidedly  rhythmical  character  of  such 
movements  is  noteworthy.  Indeed,  they  tend  to  prove 
that  all  free  motion  unimpeded  by  other  forces  is  likely 
to  be  rhythmical. 

Schlegel  tells  of  a  tame  leopard  that  was  very  fond 
of  children — "  especially  of  a  little  girl  five  years  old, 
whom  he  often  jumped  over  in  play,  and  with  such 
ease  that  without  any  preparatory  running  he  crouched 
and    easily   bounded   higher   than    the   child's    head.'' 


*  When  free,  too,  the  younc:  marten  is  much  inrlined  to  move- 
ment play,  restlessly  busyin.e:  himself  with  all  sorts  of  climbing 
and  leaping  exercises  (A.  and  K.  MuUer,  Hohern  Thierwelt,  p.  75). 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  113 

Young  bears  are  exceedingly  playful.  One  that  I 
watched  for  a  long  time  galloped  with  indefatigable 
energy  around  the  great  kennel,  directing  his  course 
through  the  water  pool  each  time.  His  noisy  splashing 
seemed  to  give  him  particular  pleasure.  The  young 
badgers  in  Regent's  Park,  London,  amuse  visitors  by 
turning  somersaults  hundreds  of  times  in  succession  in 
the  same  spot.  The  wild  buck  gives  expression  to  its 
joy  in  graceful,  sportive  leaps.*  Such  leaps,  alternating 
with  tearing  madly  around,  are  expressions  of  well-being 
which  so  intoxicate  the  young  hare  that  his  worst  enemy, 
the  fox,  creeps  up  unawares.  Buffaloes,  tapirs,  and 
crocodiles  sport  in  the  water  as  night  comes  on.  The 
leaping  of  young  horses,  asses,  sheep,  and  goats  is  fa- 
miliar. A  phenomenon  pointed  out  to  me  by  Director 
Seitz  illustrates  how  closely  such  movement  plays  are 
connected  with  habits  which  are  indispensable  in  the 
serious  struggle  for  life.  He  writes:  "  It  is  my  impres- 
sion that,  in  general,  the  play  of  animals  exercises  them 
in  directions  that  will  be  useful  for  them  in  the  neces- 
sary struggle  for  existence.  The  gazelle  practises  long 
jumping  and  leaping  over  bushes;  goats  and  sheep,  that 
live  in  mountains,  the  direct  high  jump."  Many  will  be 
surprised  to  find  an  explanation  for  such  goat  leaps, 
which  usually  make  us  laugh,  and  are  certainly  extraor- 
dinary movements  and  wholly  inexplicable  on  level 
ground.  They  are,  however,  necessary  practice  for  life 
in  rocky  hills. 

"  A  two-weeks-old  goat,"  says  Lenz,  "  not  satisfied 
with  the  remarkable  leaping  record  which  he  had  al- 
ready made,  had  the  greatest  desire  to  attempt  break- 
neck feats.     His  motto  was  'Excelsior.'     His  greatest 

*  A.  and  K.  Muller,  Thiere  der  Heimath,  i,  p.  422. 


114  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

pleasure  was  to  clamber  on  piles  of  wood  or  stone,  on 
walls  and  rocks,  and  to  mount  the  stairs."  * 

The  purely  playful  motions  of  cats  should  be  men- 
tioned here.  They  delight  in  racing  about,  but  not  so 
often,  I  think,  in  circles,  as  dogs  do.  They  prefer 
straight  lines  and  sharp  turns  with  the  genuine  goat 
jump.  This  sudden  flight  into  the  air,  which  appears 
to  take  place  without  the  animal's  knowledge  or  inten- 
tion, can  not  here  be  preparatory  to  life  in  the  moun- 
tains, but  the  cat  finds  the  high  jump  very  useful,  not 
only  in  pouncing  on  its  prey,  but  also  in  escaping  its 
hereditary  enemy.  Chamois  are,  of  course,  adepts  in 
high  jumping.  A  very  remarkable  movement  play  is  re- 
ported of  them,  whose  actual  occurrence  was  vouched 
for  to  Brehm  by  two  witnesses.  "  When  in  sum- 
mer the  chamois  climb  up  to  the  perpetual  snow,  they 
delight  to  play  on  it.  They  throw  themselves  in  a 
crouching  position  on  the  upper  end  of  a  steep,  snow- 
covered  incline,  work  all  four  legs  with  a  swimming 
motion  to  get  a  start,  and  then  slide  down  on  the  sur- 
face of  the  snow,  often  traversing  a  distance  of  from  a 
hundred  to  a  hundred  and  fifty  metres  in  this  way,  while 
the  snow  flies  up  and  covers  them  with  a  fine  powder. 
Arrived  at  the  bottom,  they  spring  to  their  feet  and 
slowly  clamber  up  again  the  distance  they  have  slidden 
down.  The  rest  of  the  flock  watch  their  sliding  com- 
rades approvingly,  and  one  by  one  begin  the  same  game. 
Often  a  chamois  travels  down  the  snow  slide  two  or 
three  times,  or  even  more.  Several  of  them  frequently 
come  roughly  together  at  the  bottom."  If  this  descrip- 
tion is  to  be  relied  upon,  we  have  here,  as  in  the  swing- 
ing of  birds  and  many  other  forms  of  experimentation, 

*  H.  0.  Lenz,  Gemeinniitzige  Naturgeschichte,  1851,  i,  p.  612. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  115 

genuine  play.  I  do  not  consider  this  coasting  impossi- 
ble, since  the  chamois  must  frequently  make  their  way 
across  snow-fields,  and  no  doubt  often  slide  down  unin- 
tentionally. I  have  seen  a  young  dog  slide  all  the  way 
across  the  room  with  his  fore  feet  in  a  slipper,  using 
his  hind  feet  as  propellers,  and  all  the  while  snapping 
and  snarling.  In  such  cases  accidental  movements  are 
made,  which  may  be  repeated  intentionally  later.  The 
following  incident,  related  by  Alix,  points  more  directly 
to  this  supposition  than  the  account  of  the  coasting 
chamois:  "While  manoeuvring  in  the  Alps  with  a 
squadron  of  my  regiment,  I  was  botanizing  one  day  in 
the  neighbourhood  of  Briangon,  followed  by  one  of 
those  stray  dogs  that  so  frequently  attach  themselves  to 
moving  troops.  Just  as  I  was  about  to  begin  the  descent 
by  the  interminable  winding  path  wdiich  gives  access  to 
the  defile,  I  noticed  that  the  dog,  instead  of  following 
me,  turned  toward  one  of  the  steep  declivities  of  the 
mountain  side,  where  there  was  an  accumulation  of 
snow.  Being  puzzled  to  understand  his  behaviour,  I 
stood  still  and  took  in  every  movement  of  the  animal. 
And  I  was  well  rewarded,  for  by  so  doing  I  became  wit- 
ness to  a  strange  spectacle,  most  wonderful  even  to  the 
man  accustomed  to  the  unlimited  resourcefulness  of 
dogs.  Placing  himself  on  his  back,  his  paws  folded,  his 
head  bent  forward,  the  intelligent  animal  slid  down  on 
the  snow  crust  to  the  very  base  of  the  mountain.  Ar- 
rived at  the  edge  of  the  snow  bed,  he  quietly  rose,  cast 
his  eye  toward  me,  wagged  his  tail,  and  lay  down  on 
the  grass  to  wait  for  me.'' 

Alix  supposes  the  dog  to  have  reasoned  that  the 
way  could  thus  be  shortened.  I  consider  more  probable 
the  rather  vulgar  explanation  that  the  dog  had  learned 
this  remarkable  trick  from  rubbing  his  too  populous 


116  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

back  on  the  snow.  However,  this  forms  a  companion 
piece  to  the  tale  of  the  chamois. 

The  etfort  of  puppies  to  walk  is  the  first  manifesta- 
tion of  movement  play.  At  first  they  can  only  creep 
about  with  difficulty,  and  when  they  learn  to  stand  up, 
an  attempt  to  bark  is  enough  to  upset  them.  As  soon  as 
they  can  stand  decently  they  at  once  try  to  gallop, 
usually  in  a  slanting  direction.  By  constant  practice  the 
necessary  accuracy  is  gained  for  carrying  on  their  chas- 
ing and  fighting  games. 

The  play  of  gro-WTi  dogs  in  water  is  noteworthy. 
The  JSTewfoundland  especially  is  such  an  enthusiastic 
swimmer  that  he  has  been  known  to  leap  from  a  bridge 
to  get  to  his  beloved  element.  However,  as  most  of  the 
play  of  dogs  belongs  in  another  category  I  shall  not 
dwell  on  it  here,  except  to  record  what  in  our  fam- 
ily we  call  the  run-fever,  the  aimless  and  objectless 
running  about  that  is  to  be  observed  of  little  dogs  in  a 
large  room,  but  of  large  dogs  only  in  the  open  air.  He 
tears  about  mldly,  mostly  in  curves,  though  our  fox 
terrier  loves  to  dash  off  straight  as  a  line  to  a  great  dis- 
tance till  he  is  lost  to  the  eye  of  his  vainly  whistling  mas- 
ter. It  might  be  said  that  this  points  to  imaginary  prey,* 
and  that  this  is  accordingly  a  chase  play  rather  than 
a  movement  play.  Eomanes  tells  of  a  poodle,  named 
Watch,  that  belonged  to  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury, 
that  hunted  for  imaginary  pigs  when  he  heard  the  w^ord 
called  out.  He  went  so  far  as  to  beg  to  be  let  out,  run- 
ning to  the  door  for  the  purpose,  and  rushing  out  with- 
out any  further  instigation  than  that  the  word  "  pigs  " 
should  be  mentioned.  It  is  difficult  to  determine 
whether  he  really  imagined  the  pigs  or  not,  but  such 

*  Or  perhaps  in  some  cases  an  imaginary  flock  to  collect. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  II7 

actions  are  common  enough.  For  instance,  my  pug,  who 
is  a  sworn  foe  of  cats,  flies  to  the  garden  and  all  along 
the  fences  if  he  hears  the  cry  "St!  cats!^'  I  am 
doubtful,  however,  whether  this  is  properly  called  play; 
at  any  rate,  it  is  quite  different  from  the  run-fever, 
for  now  the  pug  runs  with  loud  cries  and  sharp  atten- 
tion, while  in  the  run-fever  the  dog  moves  off  silent- 
ly and  looks  neither  to  the  right  hand  nor  to  the  left. 
Consequently,  I  look  upon  the  latter  as  play  purely  for 
the  sake  of  the  movement.  Perhaps  in  a  sense  the  same 
may  be  said  of  the  propensity  some  dogs  have  for  taking 
walks.  A  bulldog  of  very  philosophical  disposition  that 
I  owned  when  I  lived  in  Heidelberg,  took  regular,  soli- 
tary walks  that  threatened  to  be  expensive  to  his  master. 
He  would  go  off  without  his  muzzle,  a  thing  forbidden 
by  the  authorities;  could  be  seen  strolling  boldly  past 
the  police  office,  climbing  the  Schlossberg,  and  enter- 
ing the  garden  of  the  palace,  where  dogs  are  not  allowed 
unless  led  by  some  one.  Of  course,  we  do  not  know  how 
much  weight  to  attribute  to  the  attractions  of  digging 
under  the  curbing,  sniffing  at  corners,  and  other  pleas- 
ures of  freedom,  yet  I  am  sure  the  dog  delighted  in  the 
walk  for  its  own  sake,  and  am  not  afraid  of  contradic- 
tion on  this  point  from  those  who  know  dogs. 

Last  of  all  we  must  consider  the  monkeys.  Their 
movement  plays  may  be  divided  into  four  groups:  climb- 
ing, leaping,  swinging,  and  dancing.  It  is  unnecessary 
to  describe  the  behaviour  of  caged  monkeys,  for  even 
the  most  careless  sightseer  stands  long  in  front  of  a 
monkey  house  in  a  zoological  garden.  I  therefore  con- 
fine myself  to  some  reports  of  their  play  when  at  lib- 
erty, supposing  the  clambering  about  a  ship  to  be  free 
motion.  Captain  Smith  had  an  orang-outang  three 
months  on  board  his  vessel  and  allowed  him  perfect 


118  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

freedom.  Climbing  and  exercising  in  the  rigging 
seemed  to  give  him  the  greatest  pleasure,  for  he  in- 
dulged in  it  many  times  a  day,  and  in  such  a  manner 
as  to  astonish  all  beholders  with  his  dexterity.  Ben- 
nett makes  a  similar  report  of  a  specimen  that  he 
brought  to  Europe.  A  female  ape  (Spinnenaffe),  whose 
habits  have  been  well  described  by  an  Englishman,  also 
played  in  the  rigging.  When  "  Sally  "  really  wanted  to 
have  some  fun  she  danced  with  such  gaiety  and  abandon 
on  the  sail  yards  that  a  spectator  could  hardly  distinguish 
arms,  legs,  and  tail.  At  such  times  the  name  "  spider 
ape ''  seemed  especially  appropriate,  for  she  resembled 
a  giant  tarantula  in  her  motions.  During  this  perform- 
ance she  would  stop  from  time  to  time  and  gaze,  with 
familiar  nods,  at  her  admirers,  wrinkle  up  her  nose, 
and  emit  short  low  sounds.  She  was  usually  liveliest  at 
about  sunset.  Her  special  delight  was  to  clamber  up 
the  rigging  till  she  reached  a  horizontal  sail  yard  or  a 
slender  spar.  Here  she  hung  firmly  by  the  end  of  her 
tail  and  swung  to  and  fro.*  According  to  Duvaucel, 
"  the  gibbon  climbs  with  incredible  rapidity  up  a  bam- 
boo stalk  or  to  the  top  of  a  tree,  there  swings  to  and 
fro  several  times,  and  then,  aided  by  the  impetus  so 
gained,  throws  himself  a  distance  of  twelve  or  thirteen 
metres.  Repeating  this  three  or  four  times  in  rapid 
succession,  his  progress  appears  much  like  the  flight  of 
a  bird.  One  is  forced  to  believe  that  the  consciousness 
of  his  unparalleled  dexterity  affords  him  pleasure,  for  he 
leaps  unnecessarily  over  spaces  that  he  could  easily  avoid 
by  a  slight  detour,  varies  his  course,  leaping  to  promising 
boughs,  swinging  and  hanging  there,  and  again  launch- 
ing out  in  the  air  with  unfailing  certainty  toward  a  new 

*  [See  other  cases  in  the  original.] 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  119 

goal.  He  seems  to  proceed  magically,  flying  without 
wings;  he  lives  more  in  the  air  than  on  the  branches."  * 
The  yonng  gorilla  of  which  J.  Falkenstein  gives  so 
interesting  a  description,  "  performs  so  abandoned  a 
dance,  falling  over  himself,  whirling  about,  tumbling  from 
side  to  side,  that  the  looker-on  is  forced  to  believe  that 
he  has  in  some  way  become  intoxicated.  And  in  truth 
he  is  drunk  with  pleasure,  and  by  means  of  these  antics 
he  proves  his  own  strength  to  himself.'^  f  The  swing- 
ing of  monkeys  is  also  a  proof  of  the  invention  of  plays 
in  the  animal  world.  The  explanation  is  not  difficult, 
seeing  that  the  movements  are  often  made  intentionally 
as  the  monkeys  go  about  in  the  trees.  The  pleasure 
they  take  in  it  seems  to  be  unlimited.  Pechuel-Loesche 
tells  us  of  one  very  clever  ape  that  made  himself  a  swing, 
a  case  that  would  have  surprised  Descartes!  A  tame 
long-tailed  monkey  that  the  members  of  the  Loango  Ex- 
pedition kept  at  their  station,  a  so-called  Mbukubuku, 
"  was  a  devotee  of  swinging  to  an  unprecedented  degree, 
and  knew  well  how  to  satisfy  his  propensity.  On  any  tree 
that  he  could  reach,  on  the  roof,  and  on  his  own  kennel 
he  found  projections  that  served  as  supports,  to  which 
he  fastened  his  long  chain  by  climbing  over  them  or  go- 
ing round  in  such  a  way  that  it  caught,  and  in  this  way 
swung  to  his  heart's  content.  He  would  go  to  work 
with  admirable  deliberation  and  measure  off  a  length  of 
his  line  sufficient  for  the  purpose,  and  would  repeat  a 
successful  manner  of  fastening  even  after  months/'  X 

*  See  Alix's  description  of  a  gibbon,  L'esprit  de  nos  betes, 
p.  496. 

f  Loango  Expedition,  ii,  p.  153. 
X  Ibid.,  iii,  p.  243. 


10 


120  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

3.  Hunting  Plays. 

Instinct  is  much  more  conspicuous  in  this  class  of 
plays  than  in  those  which  we  have  heretofore  considered, 
for  by  means  of  them  the  young  animal,  even  while  yet 
having  its  food  provided  by  parental  care,  practises 
sportively  those  movements  which  will  be  used  in  ear- 
nest later  on. 

Even  the  idomestic  animals — the  dog  for  instance, 
that  may  never  feed  on  prey,  but  eat  all  its  life  from 
the  prosaic  feeding  trough — carry  on  with  passion- 
ate zeal,  plays  the  origin  of  which  must  be  sought  in  the 
ancestral  manner  of  feeding.  A  glance  over  this  class 
of  plays  shows  us  that  they  naturally  fall  into  three 
groups:  (a)  Play  with  actual  living  prey,  (b)  Play  with 
living  mock  prey.  Animals  of  the  same  kind  usually 
chase  one  another  reciprocally;  thus  we  have  to  con- 
sider the  letting  themselves  be  chased,  as  well  as  the 
active  chasing,  (c)  Play  with  lifeless  mock  prey,  with  a 
stick  of  wood,  a  ball,  or  other  such  objects.  I  have 
arranged  the  order  of  these  groups  so  that  the  examples 
most  illustrative  of  simple  play  shall  come  first,  but  it 
would  be  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  actual  time  sequence 
is  indicated  by  this  order.  On  the  contrary,  play  with 
lifeless  objects  is  in  many  cases  first  in  point  of  time. 

(a)  Is  the  treatment  of  living  prey  by  carnivorous 
animals  properly  called  play?  A  beast  of  prey  seizes  his 
victim,  does  not  kill  it,  but  lets  the  slightly  wounded 
creature  loose  on  the  ground.  It  takes  to  flight,  but  is 
instantly  recaptured,  perhaps  shaken  a  little,  and  again 
set  free.  This  time  it  lies  motionless,  perhaps  from 
weakness,  perhaps  to  feign  death.  But  the  merciless 
beast  keeps  teasing  it  until  it  again  attempts  flight, 
only  to  be  seized  once  more  by  its  tormentor.    In  this 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  121 

way  the  "  play "  goes  on  until  the  victim  really  dies 
and  is  devoured.  I  was  formerly  of  the  opinion  that 
the  instinct  here  called  out  should  not  be  regarded  as 
play  at  all,  but  had  an  entirely  different  meaning.  The 
explanation  once  suggested  by  G.  Jaeger — namely,  that 
it  was  done  for  the  purpose  of  improving  the  flavor 
(as  connoisseurs  think  that  hunted  game  is  especially 
good) — does  not  appear  probable,  though  it  can  hardly 
be  proved  to  be  impossible.  There  may  be  some  other 
reason  unknown  to  us  for  this  phenomenon  which  ex- 
cludes it  from  the  category  of  plays,  but  it  is  generally 
regarded  as  belonging  there.  Darwin  unhesitatingly 
enumerates  it  among  other  plays,*  and  Scheitlin  says  of 
the  cat:  "  She  lets  the  mouse  loose  again  and  again  in 
order  to  catch  it  each  time,  and  plays  with  it  unmerci- 
fully. Mouse  and  rolling  ball  are  all  alike  to  her,  as  the 
real  and  the  toy  beetle  are  to  the  child."  f  Even  if  this 
be  true,  there  is  still  a  difficulty.  Granting  that  the  ani- 
mal sees  no  difference  between  the  living  and  the  lifeless, 
how  are  we  to  explain  the  awakening  of  playfulness  in 
the  very  act  of  slaying,  and  so  strongly  as  to  hold  in 
check  that  instinct,  which  is  so  powerful  in  a  beast  of 
prey? 

The  whole  thing  is  usually  ascribed  to  a  natural  in- 
stinct for  cruelty.  Even  Romanes  says,  "  The  feelings 
that  prompt  a  cat  to  torture  a  captured  mouse  can  only, 
I  think,  be  assigned  to  the  category  to  which  by  com- 
mon consent  they  are  ascribed — delight  in  torturing 
for  torture's  sake.";j: 

If  this  is  true  it  is  undoubtedly  a  play.  The  dispo- 
sition to  cruelty  would  explain  the  tendency  to  play  at 

*  The  Descent  of  Man,  ii,  p.  53. 
•f  Thierseelenkunde,  ii,  p.  232. 
X  Animal  Intelligence,  p.  413. 


122  'l^HE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

killing,  even  in  the  midst  of  the  actual  thing.  But  is 
this  consensus  omnium  to  be  depended  on?  Is  not 
pleasure  from  cruelty  a  kind  of  degenerate  aesthetic  sat- 
isfaction that  requires  higher  intellectual  capacity  than 
animals  possess?  I  do  not  venture  an  assertion,  but  I 
confess  that  the  current  idea  seems  to  me  very  improba- 
ble. A  remark  of  Dr.  Seitz  in  a  letter  to  me  seems 
to  be  nearer  the  truth:  "  The  cat's  play  with  a  cap- 
tive mouse  probably  serves  to  practise  the  springing 
movements,  as  well  as  affords  an  opportunity  to  study 
the  mouse's  way  of  running  and  to  acquire  the  necessary 
stealth  in  ambush." 

Thus  torture  of  living  prey  w^ould  be  an  instinctive 
exercise  for  acquiring  skill  in  the  chase,  later  turned 
to  account  by  the  animal;  it  is  a  play,  whose  use- 
fulness accounts  for  its  existence,  unusual  as  it  is.  Ap- 
pearing in  early  youth,  it  becomes  firmly  estabhshed 
in  riper  years,  and  the  pleasure  in  being  a  cause  plays 
its  part. 

Without  assuming  a  positive  attitude  on  this  ques- 
tion, I  proceed  to  adduce  some  examples  of  torture  by 
beasts  of  prey.  The  cat  has  been  referred  to,  and  every 
one  is  familiar  with  its  habits.  The  wild  cat  also,  ac- 
cording to  Scheitlin,  plays  with  captive  mice  and  birds. 
A  leopard  that  belonged  to  Raffles  played  for  hours  with 
the  fowls  that  were  fed  to  him  on  the  ship.  Indeed,  it 
can  safely  be  said  that  such  behaviour  is  characteristic 
of  the  whole  feline  tribe. 

"Most  of  the  cat  family,''  says  Brehm,  "have  the 
horrible  practice  of  torturing  their  victims,  pretending 
to  set  them  at  liberty,  until  the  wretched  creatures  at  last 
succumb  to  their  wounds."  Lenz  relates  of  a  marten: 
"  His  hunger  satisfied,  he  would  play  for  hours  with  the 
birds  brought  to  him.     He  liked  little  marmots  even 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  123 

better;  he  leaped  and  sprang  about  the  incensed  and 
spitting  animals,  incessantly  dealing  them  blows  first 
with  the  right  paw  and  then  with  the  left.  If  he  were 
hungry,  however,  he  made  no  such  delay,  but  devoured 
them  at  once,  bones,  skin,  and  hair."  * 

I  have  included  the  dog's  toying  with  a  beetle  under 
the  head  of  experimentation,  though  perhaps  it  would 
be  more  appropriately  placed  here,  for  my  terrier  plays 
with  mice  that  he  catches  just  as  a  cat  does.  It  is  cer- 
tain, too,  that  foxes  torment  their  victims  long  and 
cruelly  and  instruct  their  young  in  the  art.f  The 
mother  weasel  brings  living  mice  to  her  little  ones  to 
play  with  and  to  practise  on,  J; 

"  In  Altures,"  says  Humboldt,  "  we  had  an  adventure 
with  a  jaguar.  Two  children,  a  boy  and  a  girl  of  eight 
and  nine  years,  were  playing  near  the  village.  A  jaguar 
came  out  of  the  woods  and  bounded  near  them.  After 
leaping  about  for  some  time,  he  struck  the  boy  on  the 
head  with  his  paw,  at  first  softly,  and  then  so  hard  that 
the  blood  streamed  forth.  At  this  the  little  girl  seized  a 
stick  and  beat  the  animal  till  it  fled.  The  jaguar  seemed 
to  be  playing  with  the  children,  as  a  cat  does  with 
mice."  *  Finally,  I  may  mention  the  cormorant  that  is 
described  in  Darwin's  Descent  of  Man  (ii,  p.  53)  as 
playing  in  a  similar  way  with  fishes. 

(b)  Play  with  living  mock  prey.  An  animal  will 
play  with  another,  usually  but  not  always  of  the  same 
kind,  as  he  does  with  his  prey.  In  that  case  both  are 
playing,  and  the  value  of  such  practice  for  the  serious 
tasks  of  after-life  is  evident.     Among  beasts  of  prey 

*  H.  0.  Lenz.  Gemeinntltzige  Naturgesch.,  i,  p.  166. 
+  Ibid..  1,  p.  266, 

i  Mliller,  Thiere  der  Heimath,  i,  pp.  352,  355. 

*  H.  0.  Lenz,  Gemeinniitzige  Naturgesch.,  1,  p.  327. 


124  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

the  pursuer  is  far  more  active  and  interested  in  the 
game  than  the  fleeing  one,  while  with  herbivorous  ani- 
mals the  contrary  is  the  case;  with  these,  as  Dr.  Seitz 
writes,  the  animal  that  is  fleeing  plays  the  principal 
part,  the  other  merely  co-operating  and  doing  its  share 
in  a  perfunctory  sort  of  way.  The  dog  offers  an  excel- 
lent example  of  the  first  class.  A  dog  that  sees  another 
approaching,  frequently  crouches  in  the  open  street 
and  remains  quite  motionless,  with  all  the  signs  of 
eager  alertness.  This  instinctive  lying  in  wait  is  evi- 
dently rudimentary,  for  when  the  other  dog  comes  up 
the  one  in  ambush  rises  forthwith  and  goes  to  meet  his 
comrade.  Sometimes  the  dog  goes  so  far  as  to  hide 
himself.  Xot  long  ago  I  saw  a  young  fox  terrier  leaping 
around  the  corner  of  a  house  to  hide  himself  from  an- 
other dog  that  was  coming.  Then  followed  the  invita- 
tion to  play,  made  in  a  very  characteristic  manner,  Avith 
legs  wide  apart,  a  position  well  adapted  to  facilitate  the 
rapid  projection  of  the  body  in  flight.  All  ready  to  start, 
he  throws  himself  from  right  to  left  several  times,  in  a 
semicircle,  before  the  flight  really  begins.  The  other  in 
the  meantime  is  a  fine  picture  of  hypocrisy,  as  he  glances 
indifferently  about  as  if  the  whole  affair  were  nothing  to 
him.  Xow,  however,  the  fun  begins,  as  the  leader  springs 
forward,  though  not  at  full  speed,  and  the  other  gives 
chase  with  enthusiasm.  Should  the  pursuer  overtake  his 
mock  prey,  he  tries  to  seize  him  in  the  neck  or  by  the 
hind  leg,  just  as  a  dog  does  when  chasing  in  earnest. 
The  other,  without  slackening  his  pace,  turns  his  head 
to  defend  himself  by  biting.  Then  a  tussle  often  en- 
sues. At  last  the  players  stand  with  tongues  hanging 
out,  breathing  heavily,  until  one  of  them  suddenly 
whirls  around  and  the  play  begins  anew.  The  elements 
involved  in  all  this  are  lying  in  wait,  hiding,  invitation 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  125 

to  play,  deception,  fleeing,  pursuing,  overtaking,  seiz- 
ing, and  defence.  I  am  anxious  to  emphasize  tlie  vari- 
ous movements  involved  on  account  of  the  unsatisfac- 
tory nature  of  the  reports  of  the  series  of  examples  I 
am  about  to  relate.  In  order  to  avoid  having  too 
many  subdivisions,  I  cite  cases  of  play  between  animals 
of  different  kinds  and  between  animals  and  men  pro- 
miscuously. 

"  While  I  was  staying  in  Tunis,"  says  Alix,  "  my 
dog  Sfax  doted  on  playing  hide  and  seek  with  the 
native  babies.  .  .  .  Concealing  himself  among  the  wood- 
piles, Sfax  described  the  most  complicated  zigzag,  and 
just  when  five  or  six  of  the  youngsters  thought  they 
were  going  to  put  their  hands  on  him  he  w^ould  appear 
on  a  pile  twenty  metres  away,  sometimes  in  front, 
sometimes  behind,  sometimes  to  the  right  or  left.  He 
would  stand  there  with  an  air  of  careless  indifference 
till  his  playfellows  ran  within  two  or  three  metres  of 
him;  then  gaily  wagging  his  tail,  he  set  off  to  make 
more  zigzags,  and  so  on  for  more  than  an  hour."  * 

Young  horses  gallop  about  the  meadows,  leaping 
with  joy;  those  grazing  on  the  Eussian  steppes  some- 
times accompany  travelling  carriages  at  a  gallop  for 
many  hours,  f 

Brehm  says:  "  The  tame  cougar  (puma)  plays  with 
his  master,  delighting  to  hide  at  his  approach  and  then 
spring  out  unexpectedly,  just  as  a  tame  lion  does.  It 
may  well  be  supposed  that  such  savage  demonstration 
of  affection  is  anything  but  agreeable  at  an  inoppor- 
tune moment."  I    Hudson  considers  the  puma  the  most 

*  L'esprit  de  nos  betes,  p.  498. 

f  Scheitlin,  Thierseelenkiinde,  ii,  p.  242. 

X  See  Reng^er,  Saugethiere  von  Paraguay,  p.  189.  A  tame 
jynx,  brought  up  by  0.  v.  Loewis,  behaved  in  the  same  way.  Dcr 
zoologische  Garten,  186G,  Xo.  4. 


12G  THE  PLAY   OF  ANIMALS. 

playful  of  animals,  with  the  exception  of  the  monkey. 
An  Englishman  told  him  the  following  incident:  He 
was  once  compelled  to  spend  the  night  in  the  open  air 
in  the  pampas  of  La  Plata.  It  was  a  bright  moonlight 
night,  and  at  about  nine  o'clock  he  saw  four  pumas 
approaching,  two  adult  animals  and  two  half-grown 
young  ones.  Knowing  that  these  animals  never  attack 
men,  he  quietly  watched  them.  After  a  while  they 
came  very  near  him  as  they  chased  one  another  and 
played  at  hide  and  seek  like  kittens;  and  finally  they 
jumped  directly  over  the  motionless  man  several  times. 
The  mother  cat  will  run  forward  some  distance  and  call 
the  little  ones  after  her.  P.  Kropotkine  had  a  cat  that 
played  regular  hide  and  seek  with  him.*  Monkeys  do 
the  same,  both  on  the  ground  and  among  the  branches. 

Young  wolves  play  just  as  dogs  do,  and  it  is  at 
least  in  part  a  chase  that  Brehm  describes  of  the 
weasel:  "  Until  these  charming  little  creatures  are  quite 
grown  they  play  often  during  the  day  with  their  par- 
ents, and  it  is  a  sight  as  strange  as  it  is  beautiful  to  see 
a  company  of  them  collected  in  a  meadow  on  a  bright 
day.  The  play  goes  merrily  on.  From  this  or  that 
hole  a  little  head  pops  out  and  small  bright  eyes  glance 
from  side  to  side.  Everything  being  quiet  and  safe,  one 
after  another  comes  out  of  the  ground  to  the  fresh 
grass.  The  brothers  and  sisters  tease  one  another,  romp 
and  chase,  and  so  cultivate  the  agility  that  is  their 
natural  inheritance." 

The  head  forester  Nordlinger  relates  the  following 
of  two  ravens  and  a  weasel:  The  latter  had  taken  refuge 
in  a  street  gutter.  As  quick  as  lightning  he  darted  out, 
rustled  through  the  dry  leaves  that  partly  covered  the 

*  Revue  scientifique,  August  9,  1884. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  127 

ground,  and  made  a  pretended  attack  on  one  of  the 
ravens ;  throwing  himself  about  among  the  leaves,  like  a 
fish  on  land,  and  pretending  to  snatch  the  birds,  he 

'  frightened  his  victims  by  the  wildest,  most  dexterous 
leaps,  during  which  the  white  belly  was  as  often  upper- 
most as  the  brown  back.  Then  he  fled  back  to  the  gut- 
ter, from  which  only  his  fore  legs  protruded ;  or  he  took 
up  his  position  on  the  street,  awaiting  the  attack  of 
the  raven  which  followed  his  own,  and  evidently  with 
as  little  serious  intent.  The  raven,  with  head  out- 
stretched, ran  after  the  alert  creature,  but  with  small 
success,  for  he  was  not  inclined  to  test  his  agil- 
ity seriously  against  the  powerful  beak  of  one  or  per- 
haps both  of  the  birds.  The  game  lasted  with  many* 
variations  on  both  sides  for  about  ten  minutes,  when  it 
was  interrupted  by  my  dog,  and  the  ravens  flew  away.* 
Beckmann  very  beautifully  describes  the  play  of  a 
badger.  "  His  only  playmate  was  an  exceedingly  clever 
and  sensible  dog,  which  I  had  accustomed  from  its 
youth  to  live  with  all  sorts  of  wild  animals.  Together 
they  went  through  a  series  of  gymnastic  exercises  on 
pleasant  afternoons,  and  their  four-footed  friends  came 
from  far  and  near  to  witness  the  performance.  The 
essentials  of  the  game  were  that  the  badger,  roaring 
and  shaking  his  head  like  a  wild  boar,  should  charge 
upon  the  dog,  as  it  stood  about  fifteen  paces  off,  and 
strike  him  in  the  side  with  its  head;  the  dog,  leaping 

,  dexterously  entirely  over  the  badger,  awaited  a  second 
and  third  attack,  and  then  made  his  antagonist  chase 
him  all  round  the  garden.  If  the  badger  managed  to 
snap  the  dog's  hind  quarters  an  angry  tussle  ensued,  but 

*  Mliller,  Thiere  der  Heimath,  i,  p.  351.     See  also  Hudson,  loc. 
cit.,  p.  385. 


128  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

never  resulted  in  a  real  fight.  If  Caspar,  the  badger, 
lost  his  temper  he  drew  off  without  turning  round,  and 
got  up  snorting  and  shaking  and  with  bristling  hair,  and 
strutted  about  like  an  inflated  turkeycock.  After  a  few 
moments  his  hair  would  smooth  down,  and  with  some 
head-shaking  and  good-natured  grunts  the  mad  play 
would  begin  again/^ 

Alix  says  that  goats  often  play  at  hide  and  seek 
with  the  village  children.*  Young  foxes  play  this 
game  together,  and  so  do  squirrels. f  The  female  mar- 
ten carries  on  all  sorts  of  gambolings  with  her  young. 
The  little  ones  run  after  her,  she  leaps  over  them, 
springs  and  whirls  about  like  mad  in  every  direction.  J 
Fraulein  Minna  Haass,  of  Rosterberg,  had  a  tame 
fawn  named  Lieschen  that  followed  her  mistress  all 
about,  came  at  her  call,  and  manifested  a  real  attach- 
ment for  her.  "  The  animal  also  cherished  a  friend- 
ship with  two  huge  mastiffs,  and  delighted  to  j^lay  with 
them.  When  ready  for  a  game,  the  fawn  would  ap- 
proach the  dogs  as  they  lay  before  the  door,  tap  them 
with  her  fore-foot,  and  take  to  flight.  At  this  signal 
a  game  followed  exactly  like  the  hide  and  seek  played 
by  children,  and  a  beautiful  sight  it  was.  If  the  dogs 
were  disinclined  to  play,  Lieschen  kept  urging  them  till 
they  came."  * 

Antelopes  when  followed  keep  the  same  distance 
from  a  pursuer,  as  if  they  were  mocking  at  him.  Seals 
chase  one  another  vigorously  in  the  water.  Birds,  too, 
have  a  kind  of  play  that  is  like  chasing.    Naumann  says 

*  Loc.  cit.,  p.  173. 

f  A.  and  K.  Miiller.  Wohnnnj2:en,  Leben  nnd  Ei^fent.  in  der 
hoheren  Thierwelt.  pp.  00  und  161. 

X  A.  and  K,  Miiller.  Thiere  der  Heimath,  vol.  i.  p.  364. 

*  Buchner,  Liebe  und  Liebesleben  in  der  Thierwelt,  p.  263. 


THE   PLAY  OP  ANIMALS.  129 

that,  as  autumn  comes  on,  the  redstart  and  their 
young  may  be  seen  chasing  and  teasing  one  another. 
Scheitlin  tells  of  a  tame  stork  "that  very  easily  made 
friends,  especially  with  children,  and  would  even  play 
with  them,  running  after  them  with  outstretched  wings 
and  catching  hold  of  their  coats  or  sleeves  with  his  bill, 
and  then  back,  looking  round  to  see  if  the  children 
followed.  It  would  wait  to  be  caught  by  the  wing  and 
then  start  after  the  children  again.  This  scene  was 
repeated  as  often  as  the  children  played  '  catcher  ^  in 
the  street."  *  A.  Giinzel  relates  of  a  tame  and  trained 
magpie:  "At  the  time  of  the  morning  recess  she  went 
to  the  playground  of  the  school  children,  especially  of 
the  boys,  to  look  on  while  they  romped.  She  expressed 
her  pleasure  by  hopping  about  excitedly  and  snapping 
her  bill.  The  boys  loved  to  tease  her.  She  would 
stretch  her  long  tail  out,  and  when  any  one  tried  to 
touch  it,  spring  so  nimbly  to  one  side  that  they  never 
succeeded  in  catching  her.  Even  I  could  not  touch  her 
then,  though  at  other  times  she  was  quite  docile.  She 
enjoyed  this  play,  and  would  follow  any  one  who  caught 
at  her  tail  in  order  to  repeat  the  game."  f  The  older 
Brehm  relates  of  the  golden-crested  wren:  "  This  little 
bird  carries  on  a  strange  performance  in  the  fall,  from 
the  beginning  of  September  to  the  end  of  Xovember. 
It  begins  by  calling  out  repeatedly  *^Si,si!^  whirls  around, 
and  flaps  its  wings.  Others  answer  to  the  call,  and  they 
collect,  all  going  through  the  same  motions.  From  two 
to  six  usually  play  together."  | 

"  The  woodpecker,"  writes  "\Valter,  "  is  an  enthusias- 
tic player,  and  often  has  his  parents  as  playmates.     A 

*  XanmaTin,  iii.  p.  581. 

+  Die  pefiederte  Welt,  1887. 

X  Chr.  L.  Brehm,  Beitrage  zur  Vogelkimde,  ii,  p.  126. 


130  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

shaking  twig  or  bit  of  cloth  sets  the  whole  family  into 
the  most  joyous  agitation  for  fully  five  minutes.  They 
clamber  about  a  tree  like  monkeys,  hiding  with  out- 
stretched wings  behind  the  trunk  till  they  are  found, 
and  then  they  all  run  and  dance  around  the  tree,  chasing 
and  teasing  each  other." 

We  must  always  remember  in  estimating  these  ac- 
tions of  birds  that  most  of  them  are  probably  con- 
nected with  courtship.  But  Huber's  observations  of  ants 
— which,  however,  have  been  questioned — indicate  that 
these  insects  actually  do  play  at  hiding  and  chasing.* 

(c)  Play  with  lifeless  objects.  It  usually  appears, 
as  I  have  said,  before  the  other  two  kinds  of  play  already 
mentioned. 

The  sportiveness  of  kittens  is  alone  sufficient  to  prove 
that  play  is  founded  on  instinct.  The  tiny  creature 
creeps  from  its  nest,  still  blind,  but  as  soon  as  even  one 
eye  is  open  it  toys  with  every  rolling,  running,  sliding, 
or  fluttering  object  in  its  reach, f  and  only  when  it  has 
practised  on  such  things  and  become  prepared  for  the 
real  business  of  a  preying  animal  does  the  old  cat 
bring  living  prey  to  it.  In  this  case  play  is  surely  not 
the  child  of  work,  as  Wundt  calls  it,  but  rather  it  is 
Ziegler  who  is  right  when  he  says  that  work  is  the  child 
of  play.  J;  Various  kinds  of  movements  are  distinguish- 
able in  a  cat's  play  with  balls,  suspended  cords,  bundles 
of  paper,  etc.  A  moving  object  is  best  to  test  this  with, 
for,  "  cceteris  paribus,  objects  moving  slowly  fasten  the 
attention  most  readily  "  * — a  fact  of  significance  in  the 
struggle  for  life. 

*  See  Biichner,  Geistesleben  der  Thiere,  p.  196. 

+  Scheitlin.  Thierseelenkunde,  ii,  p.  217. 

t  Th.  Zieorler,  Das  Geflihl,  Stuttgart,  1898,  p.  235. 

**  L.  William    Stern,    Zeit.    fiir   Psych,   u.    Phvs.   der  Sinnes- 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  131 

ObserTation  of  this  motion  produces  in  the  young 
animal  first  perfect  motionlessness,  attended  by  that 
strenuous  attention  that  we  call  "  lying  in  wait/'  whose 
analogue  is  found  in  the  feigning  of  death  by  an  animal 
when  pursued.  Actual  deception  is  often  involved  in 
this  lying  in  wait,  for  the  cat  appears  to  be  looking  in 
an  entirely  different  direction  while  she  creeps  up 
noiselessly  with  snakelike  movements.  Then  comes  the 
spring  on  the  object,  which  is  clutched  with  the  teeth 
from  above  and  the  claws  at  the  sides.  If  the  object 
is  quite  near,  or  if  it  hangs  like  a  suspended  string, 
grabbing  at  it  with  the  claws  is  substituted  for  this  pro- 
cess. 

AVe  may  safely  assume  that  the  cat  does  not  recog- 
nise mock  prey  as  such  at  this  early  stage,  but  we  can 
not  be  sure,  on  the  contrary,  that  she  thinks  it  is  real 
prey. 

The  sight  of  the  moving  object  is  sufficient  to  ac- 
count for  the  whole  series  of  instinctive  acts,  without 
calling  into  use  any  higher  psychological  accompani- 
ments. I  am  therefore  not  far  from  right  if  I  use  the 
play  with  its  own  or  the  mother's  tail  as  an  illustration 
here  for  the  sake  of  simplicity.  So  far  as  it  is  not  ex- 
perimenting, it  belongs  in  the  category  of  chase  plays. 
I  have  slightly  abridged  Brehm's  beautiful  description: 
"  The  playfulness  of  cats  is  noticeable  in  their  first  in- 
fancy, and  the  mother  does  everything  in  her  power 
to  encourage  it.  She  becomes  a  child  with  her  chil- 
dren from  love  of  them,  just  as  a  human  mother  for- 
gets her  cares  in  play  with  her  darlings.  The  cat  sits 
surrounded  by  her  little   ones  and   slowly  moves  her 

orsrane,  vol.  vii.  1894,  p.  326.     Cf.  Schneider,  Vierteljahr.  fiir  Wiss. 
Philos.,  ii,  1878. 


132  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

tail,  which  Gesner  regards  as  the  indicator  of  her  moods. 
The  kittens  hardly  yet  grasp  its  language,  but  they  are 
excited  by  the  motion,  their  eyes  take  on  expression, 
and  they  prick  up  their  ears.  One  and  another  clutch 
awkwardly  after  the  moving  tail,  one  tries  to  clamber 
on  its  mother^s  back  and  turns  a  somersault,  another 
has  spied  the  movement  of  its  mother's  ears  and  busies 
itself  with  them,  while  the  fifth  goes  on  placidly  suck- 
ing.    The  contented  mother  quietly  submits  to  it  all." 

I  believe  that  all  higher  psychological  accompani- 
ments are  wanting  in  the  first  play  of  young  animals, 
such  as  with  a  block  or  ball  or  anything  of  the  sort, 
but  are  necessarily  developed  by  constant  repetition 
of  the  game.  If  a  cat  keeps  running  after  such  a  ball, 
in  time  a  sort  of  role-consciousness  comes  to  her,  some- 
thing like  that  which  accompanies  human  actions  that 
are  intentionally  make-believe.  This  "  doing  as  if," 
or  playing  a  part,  will  appear  very  important  in  our 
later  observations,  and  I  think  we  may  be  sure  that  the 
kitten  possesses  it  in  some  degree  at  least  after  fre- 
quently repeated  experiments.  A  circumstance  that  I 
have  not  yet  mentioned  seems  to  increase  this  probabil- 
ity. When  the  ball  stops  rolling  the  kitten  starts  it  up 
again  by  a  gentle  tap  with  her  paw,  in  order  to  begin 
the  game  again.  This  seems  like  conscious  self-decep- 
tion, involving  some  of  the  most  subtle  psychological 
elements  of  the  pleasure  that  play  gives. 

Dogs,  too,  are  inclined  to  chase  any  moving  object. 
Brehm  includes  it  among  their  characteristics.  "  They 
all  run  after  whatever  goes  quickly  by  them,  be  it  man, 
passing  wagon,  ball,  stone,  or  what  not,  attempt  to  seize 
and  hold  it,  even  when  they  know  perfectly  well  that  it 
is  a  thing  of  no  use  to  them."  Every  one  knows  the 
ridiculous  way  in  which  a  young  dog  will  chase  his  own 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  133 

tail,  faster  and  faster,  until  he  falls  down.  A  suspended 
cord  is  a  welcome  plaything  to  him,  too;  if  he  finds  he 
can  not  pull  it  down,  he  seizes  it  in  his  teeth  and  jerks 
it  from  side  to  side,  with  threatening  growls.  Close 
observation  of  such  actions  clearly  reveals  their  instinc- 
tive origin.  The  way  young  dogs  will  shake  a  cord  or 
scrap  of  cloth  is  excellent  practice  for  shaking  their 
prey — a  habit  which  apparently  has  the  double  object  of 
stunning  the  victim  and  deepening  the  hold  of  the  dog's 
teeth. 

The  fact  that  dogs  beg  to  have  a  stone,  a  piece  of 
wood,  or  a  ball  thrown  for  them,  shows  how  greatly 
their  chasing  impulse  is  excited  by  the  sight  of  moving 
objects.  While  his  master  is  getting  ready  for  the 
throw  the  dog  stands  waiting  with,  eager  eyes  and  all 
ready  for  the  spring,  and  as  soon  as  the  object  flies  off 
he  is  after  it  and  trying  to  seize  it.  Small  dogs  seem 
to  hold  their  prey  entirely  with  their  teeth,  while  my 
St.  Bernard  leaps  upon  the  object  with  his  fore  paws 
stiffly  extended  and  deals  a  blow  which  would  break  the 
backbone  of  small  animals.  He  will  gnaw  for  a  long 
time  on  a  piece  of  wood  that  he  has  run  after,  carrying 
it  away  in  his  mouth  as  he  would  real  prey,  and  cling- 
ing to  it  energetically  if  any  effort  is  made  to  get  it 
from  him.  This  instinct  makes  it  easy  to  train  dogs  to 
carry  sticks  or  baskets.  We  can  be  much  more  confi- 
dent that  a  dog  has  some  consciousness  of  the  pretence 
of  the  thing  in  his  play  than  we  are  in  the  case  of  the 
cat.  He  knows  perfectly  well  that  the  stick  which  he 
brings  and  lays  at  his  master's  feet  time  and  time  again 
is  not  alive,  and  he,  too,  sets  his  plaything  in  motion 
when  there  is  no  one  to  throw  it  for  him,  by  seizing  it 
in  his  mouth  and  tossing  it  up  in  the  air.  Many  dogs 
delight  to  play  with  the  feet  of  their  master  or  mistress 


134  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

— a  black  boot  has  a  particular  fascination  for  the  rat 
terrier.  It  is  a  pretty  sight  to  see  one  of  them  push 
back  a  lady's  skirt  with  his  paw  to  find  her  foot  and 
then  pounce  upon  it  eagerly,  never  biting  to  hurt  her, 
however — another  proof  of  the  consciousness  of  make- 
believe.  Examples  of  such  play  with  lifeless  objects 
are  not  abundant  in  the  literature  of  the  subject  that 
I  am  acquainted  with.  However,  I  am  able  to  cite 
a  few. 

Monkeys  like  to  play  with  balls  and  other  moving 
objects,*  and,  according  to  Eengger,  young  jaguars  do 
the  same,  and  often  play  for  hours  at  a  time  with  bits 
of  paper,  oranges,  or  wooden  balls,  f  Captive  bears,  too, 
play  with  blocks  and  balls.  Brehm  says  that  young 
ocelots  "  taken  young  and  with  care,  are  very  tame; 
they  romp  together  like  Ivittens,  playing  with  a  bit  of 
paper,  a  small  orange,  and  such  objects  ";  and  Hudson 
says  of  the  puma  that  at  heart  it  is  always  a  kitten,  tak- 
ing unmeasured  delight  in  its  frolics,  and  when,  as  often 
happens,  one  lives  alone  in  the  desert,  it  will  amuse 
itself  by  the  hour  fighting  mock  battles  or  playing  at 
hide  and  seek  with  imaginary  companions,  lying  in  wait 
and  putting  all  its  wonderful  strategy  in  practice  to  cap- 
ture a  passing  butterfly.  A  tame  puma  that  Hudson 
knew  was  delighted  when  a  string  or  handkerchief  was 
waved  before  him,  and  when  one  person  was  tired  play- 
ing with  him  he  was  ready  for  a  game  with  the 
next  comer.t  Many  observers  tell  us  of  cranes:  these 
remarkable  and  intelligent  birds  throw  stones  and  bits 

*  Scheitlin,  Thierseelenkunde,  ii,  p.  125.     Darwin,  Descent  of 
Man,  in  loc. 

f  Sanq-ethiere  von  Paracrnay,  pp.  173,  200,  211. 
X  The  Naturalist  in  La  Plata,  p.  40. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  135 

of  mud  in  the  air,  as  dogs  do,  and  try  to  catch  them 
as  they  fall.* 

4.  Fighting  Plays. 
Such  plays  are  usually  to  be  regarded,  in  my  opin- 
ion, as  preparatory  for  the  struggle  for  the  female, 
though  there  are  other  reasons  for  the  teasing  and  tus- 
sling of  young  animals.  That  pleasure  in  possessing 
power  that  appears  in  experimentation  is  certainly  pres- 
ent here  as  well,  and  such  fights  serve  also  as  practice  for 
later  battles  other  than  those  of  courtship.  Most  ani- 
mals, and  especially  carnivorous  ones,  are  as  pugnacious 
in  conducting  their  games  together  as  they  are  over  ac- 
tual prey,  for  their  chasing  games  very  easily  lead  to 
fights.  But  when  we  reflect  that  the  defenceless  crea- 
tures, whose  only  safety  is  in  flight,  fight  among  them- 
selves just  as  much  as  the  beasts  of  prey  do,  we  seem 
to  be  shut  up  to  the  view  that  the  principal  use  for 
playful  contests  is  preparation  for  the  later  struggle  for 
the  female.  The  close  connection  between  cruelty  and 
pugnacity  on  the  one  hand,  and  sexual  excitement  on 
the  other,  is  a  fact  confirmatory  of  this  view.  It  is  well 
known  that  there  is  a  kind  of  voluptuous  pleasure  in 
cruelty.  Preyer  has  published  cases  of  perverted  sexual 
feeling  t  where  the  highest  degree  of  excitement  was 
expressed  by  cruelty  to  smaller  animals;  and  among 
some  animals — hares,  for  instance — it  is  common  for  the 
female  to  be  seriously  abused  in  the  act  of  pairing. 
Schaeffer  says:'t  "Fighting  and  the  impulse  to  kill  are 

*  Scheitlin.    ThiVrseelenknnde.    i,    74.       Nanraann,    Xaturge- 
schichte  der  Vojrel  Deiitschlands.  ix.  pp.  3fi2,  393. 

+  Miinchen.  med.  Wochenschrift,  1890.  Xo.  23. 

t  Zeitschrift  fiir  Psychol,  und  Physiol,  d.  Sinnesorgane,  vol.  ii 
(1891),  p.  128. 
11 


136  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

so  universally  attributes  of  the  male  animal  that  we  can 
not  doubt  the  connection  between  this  side  of  the  mas- 
culine nature  and  the  sexual.  The  writer  himself  be- 
lieves, from  personal  observation,  that  in  the  perfect 
male  the  first  shadowy  unrecognised  suggestion  of  sex- 
ual excitement  may  be  aroused  by  reading  of  hunting 
and  fighting,  and  that  the  necessity  for  some  sort  of 
satisfaction  gives  rise  to  combative  games,  such  as  the 
ring  fights  of  boys."  If  Schaeffer  means  that  "the 
fundamental  sexual  impulse  for  the  utmost  extensive 
and  intensive  contact  of  the  participants  with  a  more 
or  less  clearly  defined  idea  of  conquest  underlying  it " 
is  the  main  thing,  I  can  only  partly  agree  with  him. 
My  idea  is  that  teasing  and  fighting  are  closely  con- 
nected with  the  sexual  life  from  the  fact  that  they 
furnish  practice  for  the  contest  of  courtship,  without 
being  in  any  sense  satisfying  to  the  sexual  instinct. 
Among  many  animals  that  play  in  this  way  the  female 
yields  to  the  victor  of  the  males  without  resistance; 
and,  besides,  it  frequently  happens  in  the  fighting  of 
birds  that  there  is  no  direct  contact  at  all.  Then,  again, 
many  young  animals  have  special  plays  connected  with 
pairing  besides  their  fighting  plays. 

(a)  Teasing  arises  Avhen  the  desire  to  fight  either 
does  not  seek  or  can  not  find  direct  satisfaction.  A 
belligerent  animal  delights  to  provoke  others  that  are 
perhaps  not  thinking  of  fighting.  After  establishing 
its  supremacy  by  this  means  the  teasing  is  apt  to  develop 
into  cruel  torture.  There  are  some  boys  who  can  not 
resist  dealing  an  unprovoked  cuff  to  another  boy,  or 
pulling  his  hair,  and  there  are  just  such  animals.  When 
Bennett  tried  to  bring  an  ape  to  Europe  there  were 
other  monkeys  on  the  ship  that  would  have  nothing 
to  do  with  him,  and  he  took  revenge  by  seizing  them 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  137 

by  the  tails  and  dragging  them  about.  He  carried  one 
poor  fellow  to  the  top  of  a  mast  in  this  way  and  let  him 
fall.  Brehm  describes  the  behaviour  of  baboons  toward 
two  Java  apes.  "  These  baboons,  like  all  of  their  kind, 
were  most  jovial  fellows,  and  took  the  greatest  delight  in 
teasing  and  tormenting  the  apes,  which  crouched  close 
together,  clinging  to  one  another.  The  baboons  flew  at 
them,  tore  them  apart,  poked  them  in  the  ribs,  pulled 
their  tails,  and  tried  in  every  way  to  break  up  their  de- 
voted friendship.  They  climbed  over  them,  tugged  at 
their  hair,  forced  themselves  between  the  inoffensive 
pair,  until  the  frightened  creatures  sought  refuge  in  an- 
other corner,  only  to  be  followed  by  their  tormentors 
and  maltreated  afresh." 

A  female  of  the  same  kind  that  Brehm  brought  to 
Germany  loved  to  tease  the  snappish  house  dog.  When 
he  took  his  midday  meal  out  in  the  court  and  had 
stretched  himself  as  usual  on  the  greensward,  the 
roguish  monkey  would  appear,  and,  seeing  with  satis- 
faction that  he  was  fast  asleep,  seize  him  softly  by  the 
tail  and  wake  him  by  a  sudden  jerk  of  that  member. 
The  enraged  dog  would  fly  at  his  tormentor,  barking  and 
growling,  while  the  monkey  took  a  defensive  position, 
striking  repeatedly  on  the  ground  with  her  large  hand 
and  awaiting  the  enemy's  attack.  The  dog  could  never 
reach  her,  though  to  his  unbounded  rage,  for,  as  he 
made  a  rush  for  her,  she  sprang  at  one  bound  far  over 
his  head,  and  the  next  moment  had  him  again  by  the 

tail. 

"  A  raccoon  that  was  kept  on  a  farm  with  other  tame 
animals/'  writes  L.  Beckmann,  "  was  specially  attached 
to  a  badger  which  was  in  the  same  inclosure.  On  hot 
days  the  latter  was  accustomed  to  take  his  nap  in  the 
open  air  under  the  shade  of  an  alder.    Then  the  mis- 


138  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

chievous  ^coon  found  his  opportunity,  but  as  he  feared 
the  badger's  bite  he  carefully  kept  his  distance,  satisfy- 
ing himself  with  touching  his  victim  softly  in  the  rear 
at  regular  intervals.  This  was  enough  to  keep  the 
sleepy  badger  awake  and  reduce  him  to  despair.  In 
vain  he  snapped  at  his  tormentor ;  the  wary  ^coon  trotted 
to  the  edge  of  the  inclosure,  and  scarcely  had  the  badger 
composed  himself  again  before  he  was  at  his  old  tricks.'^ 
I  know  from  experience  that  young  horses  often  tease 
their  masters.  They  will  run  up,  stand  very  quiet  with 
head  held  high,  then  spring  back  and  turn  with  a 
menacing  air.  Scheitlin  thus  describes  their  actions: 
"A  young  horse  chased  a  company  of  travellers  in  a 
narrow  Alpine  valley.  He  allowed  them  to  walk  past 
him  undisturbed  at  first,  then  galloped  after  them,  sud- 
denly stood  still  threateningly,  then  turned  back  and 
pretended  to  graze,  but  soon  came  bounding  on  again. 
This  was  repeated  several  times  to  the  no  small  alarm 
of  the  travellers,  but  he  was  evidently  acting  from  pure 
mischief,  just  like  a  youth  in  high  spirits."  * 

Herds  of  gnus  behave  in  much  the  same  way,  so  that 
travellers  often  have  really  to  run  the  gauntlet  among 
them. 

Saville  Kent  contributes  the  following  anecdote 
about  dolphins:  "A  few  dog-fish  (Acanthias  and  Mus- 
telus)  three  or  four  feet  long  now  fell  victims  to  their 
tyranny,  the  porpoises  seizing  them  by  their  tails,  and 
swimming  off  with  and  shaking  them  in  a  manner 
scarcely  conducive  to  their  comfort  or  dignified  appear- 
ance. ...  On  one  occasion  I  Avitnessed  the  two  cetacea 
acting  evidently  in  concert  against  one  of  these  un- 
wieldy fish  (skates),  the  latter  swimming  close  to  the 

*  Thierseelonlvundc,  ii,  p.  242. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  139 

top  of  the  water  and  seeking  momentary  respite  from 
its  relentless  enemies  by  lifting  its  unfortunate  caudal 
appendage  high  above  its  surface — the  peculiar  tail  of 
the  skate  being  the  object  of  sport  to  the  porpoises, 
which  seized  it  in  their  mouths  as  a  convenient  handle 
whereby  to  pull  the  animal  about  and  worry  it  inces- 
santly/'* 

Birds,  too,  give  vent  to  the  fighting  impulse  by  teas- 
ing one  another.  Linden  reports  a  parrot  that  teased 
others  in  a  good-natured  way,  and  Humboldt  had  a 
toucan  which  delighted  in  jDlaguing  a  sulky  monkey 
that  was  very  easily  provoked.  Brehm  tells  this  of  the 
ibis:  "  Those  that  I  have  known  lived  in  comparative 
peace  with  all  the  birds  that  share  their  quarters,  but 
assumed  a  certain  authority  over  the  weaker  ones  and 
seemed  to  take  pleasure  in  teasing  them.  The  flamingoes 
especially  they  could  not  let  alone,  and  took  the  strangest 
way  to  torment  them.  As  they  were  sleeping  with 
head  buried  in  their  feathers,  the  ibis  softly  stole  up  and 
picked  at  their  web  feet,  with  no  intention  of  hurting 
them,  but  from  pure  mischief.  When  a  flamingo  felt 
this  annoying  tickling  he  moved  off,  gave  a  startled 
glance  at  the  ibis,  and  tried  to  get  another  nap,  but 
his  tormentor  was  soon  after  him  and  at  the  old  game." 

(b)  Tussling  among  young  animals.  Before  enter- 
ing fully  on  this  part  of  my  subject  I  am  going  to  cite 
a  case  that  is  to  some  degree  problematical,  to  prove 
that  I  do  not  overlook  the  possibility  that  fighting 
play  may  be  entirely  due  to  the  preying  instinct  of 
a  certain  class  of  animals.  I  refer  to  the  mock  battles 
of  ants.  Biichner  writes:  "  It  is  on  the  g5minastic  exer- 
cises and  plays  of  the  Pratensis  that  Huber  founded  his 

*  Nature,  vol.  viii,  Intellect  of  Porpoises. 


140  THE  PLAY  OF  AXIMALS. 

celebrated  observations.  He  saw  these  ants  collect  on 
bright  days  on  top  of  their  hills  and  behave  in  a  way 
that  he  could  only  describe  as  regular  ring  games.  They 
rose  on  their  hind  legs,  seized  each  other  with  fore- 
feet, feelers,  and  jaws,  and  actually  wrestled,  all  in  quite 
friendly  fashion.  When  one  gained  the  ascendency  she 
would  seize  all  the  rest,  one  by  one,  and  throw  them 
over  in  a  pile  like  skittles.  Then  she  dragged  them 
about  in  her  jaws.^'  This  description  of  Huber's  was 
published  in  many  popular  papers,  but  won  little  cre- 
dence from  the  reading  public.  "  Indeed,  I  myself,^'  says 
Forel,  "  found  it  hard  to  believe,  in  spite  of  the  accu- 
racy with  which  Huber  recorded  his  observations,  until 
I  saw  it  myself."  A  colony  of  Pratensis  gave  him  this 
opportunity  as  he  approached  them  carefully.  The 
wrestlers  seized  one  another  with  feet  and  jaws,  rolled 
together  to  the  ground,  just  as  playful  urchins  like  to 
do,  pulled  each  other  into  their  holes  only  to  come  out 
and  begin  over  again.  All  this  was  apparently  done 
without  anger  or  spiteful  feeling;  it  was  clear  that  they 
were  actuated  only  by  a  spirit  of  friendly  rivalry.*  Sup- 
posing that  this  is  all  play,f  an  admission  that  I  am  not 
altogether  prepared  to  make,  there  is,  of  course,  no  con- 
nection with  courtship.  "  I  can  understand,"  says 
Forel,  "  that  it  must  appear  all  the  more  incredible  to 
those  who  have  not  seen  it,  when  they  reflect  that  sex- 
ual instinct  can  have  nothing  to  do  with  this  play." 
The  mock  fights  of  ants  must  then  be  entirely  for  prac- 
tice preparatory  to  their  unusually  quarrelsome  and 
predatory  way  of  living.  J    Notwithstanding,  I  must  hold 

*  A.  Forel,  Les  fonrmis  de  la  Suisse,  1874. 
+  Blichner,  Aus  dem  Geistesleben  der  Thiere,  pp.  196,  220. 
X  IMcCook  and  Bates  also  have  observations  on  the  play  of  ants. 
See  Romanes,  Animal  Intelligence,  p.  88. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  141 

to  the  belief  that  mock  fighting  in  general  is  prepara- 
tory for  the  courtship  contest.  The  fact  that  ants  form 
an  exception  does  not  warrant  the  conclusion  that  the 
principle  does  not  apply  to  the  animals  referred  to  in 
what  follows. 

Again,  I  begin  with  the  dog.  All  kinds  of  puppies 
are  indefatigable  in  playful  romping,  and  gain  in  this 
way  much  that  is  needful  in  the  serious  struggles  of 
later  life.  While  they  are  very  young,  little  dogs  chase 
each  other  awkwardly  and  try  to  seize  the  throat.  Fox 
terriers  usually  try  to  dodge  the  first  attack,*  others  rise 
on  their  hind  feet  and  fight  with  front  paws  and  teeth. 
AYhen  one  is  thrown  he  at  once  turns  on  his  back  to  pro- 
tect his  neck,  and  dexterously  wards  off  the  enemy  with 
his  fore  feet.  The  victor,  equally  skilful,  stands  with 
feet  wide  apart  over  his  fallen  foe  and  prevents  him 
from  rising.  If  the  dogs  are  of  unequal  size,  the  big 
one  often  lies  down  of  his  owm  accord  and  carelessly 
keeps  the  little  one  at  bay,  as  he  makes  excited  dashes 
for  the  enemy's  throat  from  all  sides.  The  quiet  move- 
ments of  a  huge  mastiff  in  contrast  with  the  audacity 
and  violence  of  a  terrier,  which  attacked  him  in  this 
way,  have  often  amused  me. 

Tussling  like  this,  where  pleasure  in  the  possession 
of  power  and  the  closely  related  rivalry,  as  well  as  mere 
pugnacity,  play  important  parts,  is  almost  universally 
practised  among  animals.  All  the  feline  tribe  without 
exception  indulge  in  it,  young  tomcats  especially,  so 
that  the  Germans  have  a  special  word  for  their  fight- 
ing, "  Katzbalgerei"  At  the  age  of  two  months  young 
lions  begin  their  play,  which  is  like  that  of  the  house 
cat,  and  the  same  is  true  of  tigers,  jaguars,  leopards, 

*  Cf.  Diezels,  Niederjagd,  p.  506. 


142  TnE  PLAY  OF  AXIMALS. 

ocelots,  etc.  Young  wolves  howl  and  yelp  during  their 
play;  when  tame  they  play  with  children.  Brehm 
writes:  "Hyenas,  taken  young,  soon  become  accustomed 
to  a  particular  person,  and  have  a  method  of  showing 
their  pleasure  at  the  appearance  of  a  friend,  that  is  not 
employed  by  any  other  beast  of  prey  that  is  known  to 
me.  They  rise  with  cries  and  jump  about  like  mad, 
struggle  with  each  other  merely  from  pleasant  excite- 
ment, bite  one  another,  roll  over  and  over  on  the 
ground,  spring  and  leap  and  hop  about  the  cage,  all 
the  time  keeping  up  uninterruptedly  a  sound  for  which 
there  is  no  word — the  nearest  approach,  perhaps,  is  to 
call  it  a  twittering."  Young  male  weasels  romp  and 
tussle,  sometimes  biting  one  another  severely,  when 
the  savage  nature  asserts  itself.  Sables  often  play 
merrily  together,  standing  upright  the  better  to  fight, 
and  I  have  seen  two  ant-eaters  chasing  and  plaguing 
each  other.  Bennett  says  of  young  duckbills:  "  One 
evening  my  two  little  pets  came  out  as  usual  toward 
dusk  and  ate  their  supper.  Then  they  began  to  play 
like  a  pair  of  puppies,  seizing  one  another  with  their 
bills,  striking  with  the  fore  paws,  clambering  over  each 
other,  etc.  When  one  of  them  fell  in  the  strife  and 
the  other  confidently  expected  him  to  get  up  at  once 
and  renew  the  battle,  if  it  occurred  to  him  to  lie 
still  and  scratch  himself,  his  comrade  calmly  watched 
the  proceeding  and  waited  till  the  j^lay  began 
again.'' 

Bears  stand  upright  when  they  fight,  like  squabbling 
boys.  A  young  polar  bear  that  I  have  watched  was 
fond  of  playing  with  his  mother;  he  chased  her,  bit  her 
feet,  and  scratched  her  nose,  while  she  tried  to  seize 
him  as  he  lay  on  his  back.  Badgers  "  come  out  on 
still,   sunny   days   and  amuse   themselves;  the   clumsy 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  143 

young  ones  hug  each  other  like  bears,  tussle,  and  roll 
about,  dealing  cuffs  right  and  left."  * 

Beckmann  describes  the  actions  of  a  tame  young 
raccoon  so  beautifully  that  I  can  not  resist  quoting  the 
whole  passage :  "  He  had  formed  an  offensive  and  de- 
fensive alliance  with  a  large  bird  dog.  He  Avas  quite 
willing  to  be  tied  to  it,  and  then  both  followed  their 
master  step  by  step,  though  when  the  raccoon  was 
alone  on  the  chain  he  constantly  pulled  away.  As  soon 
as  he  was  unchained  in  the  morning  he  joyfully  bound- 
ed off  to  find  his  friend.  Standing  on  his  hind  feet, 
he  threw  his  fore  paws  around  the  neck  of  the  dog, 
whose  head  he  gently  bent  forward.  Then  he  examined 
and  sniffed  about  his  friend's  body  with  curiosity  and 
interest,  seeming  to  discover  new  charms  daily.  Where 
the  hair  was  rough,  he  carefully  licked  it  down.  The 
dog  stood  motionless  and  strangely  serious  during  the 
whole  inspection,  which  frequently  lasted  a  quarter  of 
an  hour,  changing  his  position  or  raising  a  limb  when 
the  raccoon  indicated  that  it  was  necessary.  He  drew 
the  line,  however,  on  having  the  creature  mount  on  his 
back,  and  the  attempt  was  a  signal  for  a  prolonged 
tussle,  where  much  courage  and  dexterity  were  dis- 
played. The  raccoon's  mode  of  attack  was  to  spring  in 
an  unguarded  moment  at  the  throat  of  his  much  larger 
and  stronger  opponent.  Thrusting  his  body  between 
the  dog's  front  legs,  it  attempted  to  hang  on  by  his 
neck.  If  he  succeeded  in  this  the  dog  was  worsted  and 
could  only  roll  frantically  on  the  ground  in  his  en- 
deavours to  rid  himself  of  the  fervid  embrace.  To 
the  credit  of  the  rogue  it  should  be  said  that  he  never 

*  A.  and  K.  IMiiller.  WohnuTiG:en.  Leben  und  Eigenthiimlich- 
keiten  in  der  hoheren  Thierwelt,  p.  62. 


144  THE  PLAY  OF  AXIMALS. 

abused  his  advantage,  but  contented  himself  with  keep- 
ing his  head  close  under  the  dog's  throat,  out  of  danger 
of  a  bite/' 

I  have  already  referred  to  the  fact  that  animals  not 
inclined  for  fighting,  except  for  defence,  are  as  fond 
of  playful  contests  in  their  youth  as  are  the  most  dan- 
gerous and  aggressive  beasts  of  prey.  In  such  cases  we 
must  expect  to  find  in  preparation  for  courtship  the 
leading  if  not  the  only  reason  for  such  fighting.  Young 
horses,  donkeys,  zebras,  etc,  tear  madly  over  the  plains, 
rear  up  at  each  other,  strike  with  head  and  fore  feet 
at  one  another's  legs  and  neck.  Calves,  too,  fight  ob- 
stinately, approaching  each  other  with  lowered  head, 
each  trying  to  push  the  other  back.  Goats  fight  in  the 
same  way,  and  they  too  often  measure  strength  in 
friendly  rivalry.  If  the  contest  becomes  earnest,  they 
commonly  rise  on  their  hind  feet  and  exert  all  their 
strength  for  a  side  push. 

I  have  seen  two  Madagascar  monkeys  wrestling  to- 
gether just  as  dogs  do,  except  that  the  play  became 
more  complicated  from  their  being  able  to  hold  on  with 
hands  and  feet. 

Every  one  knows  how  lambs  frisk  and  play  about  a 
meadow.  Kids  play  just  as  the  goats  do,  while  young 
deer  rise  on  their  hind  feet  and  strike  out  with  the  front 
ones.* 

According  to  Steller,  young  sea  bears  also  play  and 
quarrel  like  puppies.  The  father  stays  by  and  watches 
them,  and  if  a  quarrel  begins  in  earnest  he  urges  them 
on  with  growls,  and  kisses  and  licks  the  victor,  then 
pushes  him  to  the  ground,  and  is  pleased  if  he  resists. 
It  is  worthy  of  remark  that  seals,  whose  young,  it  seems, 

*  A.  and  K.  Miiller,  Thiere  der  Heimath,  i,  p.  423. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  145 

universally  indulge  in  vigorous  mock  contests,  are  es- 
pecially passionate  and  pugnacious  during  their  court- 
ship. , 

Finally,  we  will  take  a  few  examples  from  the  birds. 
^\^ater-wagtails  chase  and  bite  each  other,  apparently 
in  play,  as  is  seen  "most  commonly  late  in  summer 
among  young  birds/^  *  Young  house  and  field  sparrows 
peck  one  another  soundly  while  they  are  carrying  on 
their  courtship  plays,  as  do  the  nuthatch,  starling,  wood 
lark,  water-wagtail,  and  goldfinch.  Young  partridges 
stands  with  wings  wide  spread  and  fight  as  hotly  as  if 
they  were  already  contesting  for  a  lady  love.f 

(c)  Playful  fighting  between  adult  animals.  Many 
a  grown  animal  still  takes  pleasure  in  the  mock  com- 
bats that  he  learned  in  youth,  and  it  is  unnecessary  to 
dilate  on  the  usefulness  of  such  sportive  measuring  of 
strength  in  keeping  him  fit  for  actual  warfare.  From  a 
psychological  point  of  view,  however,  this  phenomenon 
is  especially  noteworthy  from  the  fact  that  the  adult 
animal,  though  already  well  acquainted  with  real  fight- 
ing, still  knows  how  to  keep  within  the  bounds  of  play, 
and  must  therefore  be  consciously  playing  a  role,  mak- 
ing believe.  This  can  hardly  be  denied,  I  think,  in 
some  of  the  following  cases. 

Finsch  says  that  seals  make  so  much  commotion  in 
the  water  while  playing  that  they  appear  to  be  fighting 
angrily,  '  though  it  is  really  all  frolic,  just  as  the  biting 
is  in  which  they  indulge  on  land.  Two  of  them  open 
their  powerful  jaws,  angrily  howling  in  a  fearful  way, 
as  though  a  serious  combat  were  about  to  take  place,  but 
instead°they  lie  down  peacefully  side  by  side,  and  per- 
haps begin  mutual  lickings."  

♦  Xaumann,  iii,  p.  814. 

\  Chr.  L.  Brehm,  Beitrage  zur  V5gelkunde,  ii,  p.  748. 


14G  THE   PLAY  OP  ANIMALS. 

Friendly  dogs  often  keep  up  their  playful  fights  to 
an  old  age  without  ever  being  in  the  least  angry;  and 
among  the  cattle  on  Alpine  pastures,  where  the  greatest 
freedom  is  allowed  them,  these  playful  contests  are  fre- 
quent. "  The  Alpine  cows/"'  says  Scheitlin,  "  learn  to 
know  their  proper  food  more  quickly,  are  more  good- 
natured,  and  take  more  pleasure  in  life  than  others. 
They  fight  valiantly,  both  in  play  and  in  earnest;  with 
all  their  amiability  and  fondness  for  one  another,  they 
gore  and  push  terribly,  yet  not  in  anger  or  bad  temper, 
but  like  a  lot  of  boys  that  fight  to  exercise  their  mus- 
cles. They  will  stand  for  a  long  time  with  heads  low- 
ered and  horns  interlocked,  as  if  they  would  never  sepa- 
rate. They  do  not  look  one  another  in  the  eye,  as  men 
do,  when  fighting;  their  eyes  are  on  the  ground,  their 
whole  mind  is  concentrated  on  the  push.  When  one 
succeeds  in  shoving  the  other  back,  neither  seems  to 
care;  the  loser  is  not  in  the  least  ashamed,  nor  does  the 
victor  show  any  pride  or  pleasure.  Some  of  them  are 
very  pugnacious,  and  display  great  courage  and  persist- 
ence." * 

Females  are  thus  seen  to  display  the  eagerness  for 
combat  that  is  in  general  so  much  more  the  character- 
istic of  the  male;  just  as  among  ourselves,  masculine 
instincts  often  appear  in  women.  Some  female  cats  are 
twice  as  aggressive  and  bloodthirsty  in  their  breeding 
time  as  any  male,  and  there  are  some  kinds  of  birds 
whose  females  imitate  the  song  of  the  males  and  mingle 
in  their  battles,  f 

*  Scheitlin,  Thierseelenkiinde,  ii,  p.  201. 

•f-  The  cows  that  undertake  to  lead  and  rule  the  herd  will  pome- 
times  fififht  to  the  death.  Their  leadership  is  like  that  of  the  h}^^ 
in  a  wild  state.  See  Tschudi,  Das  Thierleben  der  Alpenwelt,  1890, 
p.  542. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  147 

Pechuel-Loesche  tells  us,  in  the  report  of  the  Loango 
Expedition,  that  African  sheep  are  much  more  coura- 
geous and  bellicose  than  the  European  varieties.  The 
ram  Mfuka  that  the  travellers  kept  at  their  station 
seems  to  have  been  a  regular  tyrant.  "  He  would  not 
endure  quarrelling  or  noise  among  the  men  or  animals. 
When  the  amorous  goats  fought,  he  would  look  at  them 
inquiringly  for  a  while  and  then  deliberately  run  them 
down.  If  the  men  quarrelled,  he  acted  as  peacemaker  in 
the  same  thoroughgoing  way,  much  to  the  amusement 
of  all  concerned.  On  one  occasion  the  spokesman  of  an 
inland  chief  was  talking  violently  before  the  door,  when 
Mfuka  gently  came  up,  measured  his  distance,  and  dealt 
a  mighty  bloAv  so  energetically  on  the  solidest  part  of  the 
man's  anatomy  that  he  fell  sprawling  on  the  sand.  That 
put  an  end  to  the  speech.  It  was  a  rare  spectacle  to  see 
the  amazed  ambassador  sitting  there,  and  the  ram  stand- 
ing by  solemnly  gazing  at  him.''  * 

Brehm  says  of  two  curly  bears,  a  male  and  a  female: 
"  Soon  began  the  merry  game,  in  which  they  whirled 
about  so  that  it  was  impossible  to  distinguish  one  from 
the  other.  They  rolled  on  the  floor  like  balls,  seizing 
and  hugging  each  other,  using  jaws  and  tails  indis- 
criminately as  weapons  of  offence  and  defence."  It  is 
noteworthy  that  they  never  paired,  though  Brehm 
hoped  they  would,  and  their  play  seems  therefore  to 
have  only  the  significance  that  Schaeffer  attaches  to 
such  romping. 

Xow  a  few  examples  from  the  birds.  The  hooded 
raven,  which  Xaumann  watched  from  his  hiding  place 
for  hours  at  a  time,  is  a  very  lively  bird.  "  They  often 
quarrelled,  but  never  seriously;  they  danced  and  hopped, 

*  Loango  Expedition,  iii,  1,  p.  301. 


148  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

rolled  over  in  the  snow,  lay  on  their  backs,  took  con- 
strained positions,  and  uttered  strange  cries,  apparently 
with  great  effort/'  * 

Sale,  who  brought  the  first  kakapo  to  Europe  in 
1870,  writes  of  this  bird:  "  His  sportiveness  is  remark- 
able. He  runs  from  his  corner,  seizes  my  hand  with 
claws  and  beak,  and  tumbles  about  like  a  kitten  on  the 
floor,  still  holding  the  hand;  then  he  hurries  off  as  if 
to  prepare  for  another  attack.  He  is  sometimes  inclined 
to  be  a  little  too  rough  in  his  play,  but  a  mild  reproof 
checks  him,  and  he  is  really  an  amusing  fellow.  When 
I  tried  the  experiment  of  bringing  a  dog  or  a  cat  to  his 
cage  he  would  dance  up  and  down  with  wings  outspread 
and  making  every  pretence  of  anger,  and  his  pleasure 
was  evident  when  he  succeeded  in  exciting  the  animal." 
To  me  it  is  very  doubtful  whether  this  was  in  truth 
only  feigned  anger.  Naumann  also  regards  the  follow- 
ing familiar  phenomenon  as  a  play:  "  It  is  fine  to  see 
how  the  jackdaws  amuse  themselves  during  a  strong 
wdnd  at  the  top  of  a  tower  or  tall  tree.  One  will  hustle 
another  off  and  take  his  place,  only  to  be  pushed  off  in 
his  turn  by  the  next  comer,  and  so  on  for  hours.  Crows 
often  do  this  too.''  f 

Perhaps  Brehm's  report  of  a  buzzard  in  captivity 
belongs  here  also.  This  bird  made  friends  with  a  little 
dog,  perching  between  his  feet  when  he  lay  down,  frol- 
icked with  him,  and  tweaked  his  hair  with  its  beak. 
Baldenstein  had  a  tame  vulture  that  was  very  fond  of 
him.  Even  when  he  teased  the  bird  it  made  only  play- 
ful attacks  on  him,  though  under  other  circumstances 
it  made  terrible  use  of  its  dangerous  weapons. 

The  question  now  arises  whether  such  playful  fight- 

-  Naiimann,  ii,  p.  69.  f  Ibid.,  ii,  p.  96. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  149 

ing  as  we  have  been  considering  ever  occurs  during  the 
breeding  season.  The  contest  for  the  possession  of  a 
female  is  usually  a  serious  matter,  often  a  life-and-death 
struggle,  and  yet  may  there  not  be  some  fighting  con- 
nected with  this  period  that  is  playful?  Here,  as  in 
most  questions  of  animal  psychology,  absolute  certainty 
is  unattainable,  but  we  may  inquire  into  the  probabili- 
ties, and  it  seems  to  me  not  impossible  that  contests 
playful  in  character  may  take  place  even  during  court- 
ship. Perhaps  I  may  be  allowed  a  human  instance. 
The  belligerent  spirit  of  young  peasants  is  certainly  of 
this  nature,  little  as  the  brawlers  are  conscious  of  it. 
And  however  serious  the  fights  that  arise  on  Sundays 
and  holidays,  they  impress  us  as  at  bottom  playful,  for 
neither  combatant  wishes  actually  to  injure  the  other, 
but  rather  to  prove  his  own  superiority,  though  this 
may  involve  a  desperate  struggle.  The  fencing  of  stu- 
dents, too,  although  often  resulting  in  injuries  that 
would  be  dangerous  without  the  immediate  service  of 
a  surgeon,  are  yet  avowedly  for  sport.  It  occasionally 
happens  that  a  desire  for  revenge  leads  to  the  inflicting 
of  intentional  and  serious  injury,  but  as  a  general  thing 
it  is  all  for  practice  in  acquiring  skill  and  courage  for 
use  in  more  serious  circumstances.  It  may  be  the  same 
with  animals.  Even  when  they  have  overstepped  the 
bounds  of  the  friendly  tussling  that  we  have  been  con- 
sidering, and  the  contestants  are  angry  and  really  try- 
ing to  hurt  one  another,  still  there  may  be  something 
of  the  temper  of  play.  I  do  not  assert  that  this  is  often 
the  case,  but  I  may  give  a  couple  of  examples  that  at  least 
give  colour  to  the  idea.  We  often  see  grown  dogs  chase 
each  other  with  loud  cries  without  coming  to  a  fight  at 
all,  and  this  before  the  very  eyes  of  the  object  of  their 
rivalry.     Wliile  snappish  dogs  bite  one  another  sharply. 


150  THE  PLAY  OF  AXIMALS. 

it  seems  to  be  done  chiefly  to  prove  how  formidable 
they  are  and  how  fearless.  They  slowly  come  together 
with  stiffened  legs,  back  up,  and  ears  and  tail  erect; 
and  each  seeks  to  determine  by  characteristic  and  comic 
sniffing  what  sort  of  fellow  he  has  to  do  with.  Then 
they  slowly  walk  around  each  other  for  some  time,  keep- 
ing the  legs  stiff  and  each  with  his  head  turned,  as 
if  aiming  an  attack  at  the  others  throat.  Even  after 
all  this  they  are  very  likely  to  separate  quietly,  but 
sometimes  they  come  to  open  combat.  With  frightful 
screams  they  leap  at  one  another,  show  their  teeth, 
growling,  and  sometimes  bite  a  little,  but  almost  always 
part  without  having  gone  to  the  length  of  a  serious 
struggle. 

My  other  example  is  from  Baldamus's  description 
of  the  night  heron:  "  When  no  marauder  disturbs  them 
they  find  means  to  torment  one  another,  chasing  and 
fighting  with  loud  cries.  They  have  a  peculiar  game  of 
climbing,  during  which  they  sometimes  get  into  the 
most  ridiculous  situations  and  scream  constantly.  For 
example,  while  a  female  is  busy  appropriating  a  twig  or 
some  such  matter  from  a  neighbouring  nest,  it  occurs  to 
the  male  to  pick  at  the  feet  of  a  bird  standing  above 
him.  The  offended  one  spreads  his  wings  threatening- 
ly, opens  his  beak,  and  tries  to  retaliate,  but  is  so  closely 
pressed  by  the  aggressor  that  he  retreats  until  the  end 
of  the  limb  is  reached  or  the  courage  of  despair  inspires 
the  victim.  The  amusing  feature  of  it  lies  in  the  con- 
trast between  the  extravagantly  threatening  aspect  of 
the  aggrieved  bird  and  his  trifling  efforts  at  defence. 
The  wide-open  beak,  the  constantly  varying  cries,  ^  Koau! 
krau!  krau!  ^  etc.,  the  flaming  eyes,  red  and  flashing  with 
rage,  the  wings  raised  so  threateningly,  the  head  alter- 
nately drawn  back  and  protruded,  the   extraordinary 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  151 

contortions  of  the  whole  body,  the  erection  of  the  head 
and  neck  feathers — all  this  leads  one  to  expect  a  life- 
and-death  struggle,  and  behold!  they  scarcely  do  more 
than  touch  each  other  with  the  tips  of  their  wings,  very 
rarely  with  the  beak.  They  rage  and  storm  like 
Homeric  gods,  but  with  no  result/^ 

According  to  Darwin,  a  competent  observer  goes  so 
far  as  to  say  of  the  Tetrao  umbellus :  "  The  contest  of  the 
males  was  only  a  pretence  arranged  to  display  them- 
selves advantageously  before  the  admiring  females  col- 
lected near,  for  I  have  never  been  able  to  discover  a 
mutilated  hero,  and  seldom  one  with  more  than  a 
feather  turned/^  *  Brehm  and  ^N'aumann  f  both  contrib- 
ute to  the  following  description  of  the  remarkable  be- 
haviour of  the  willow  wren,  sometimes  called  the  fight- 
ing wren,  which  before  the  pairing  is  a  particularly 
peaceable  bird:  "But  this  quality  disappears  entirely 
as  soon  as  the  pairing  time  arrives;  it  is  now  that 
they  deserve  their  second  name,  for  the  males  fight  con- 
tinually and  with  no  apparent  cause  X — if  not  over  the 
female,  over  a  fly,  a  worm,  a  beetle,  a  place  to  perch, 
anything  or  nothing.  It  is  just  the  same  whether  fe- 
males are  present  or  not,  whether  they  enjoy  absolute 
freedom  or  are  in  captivity,  whether  they  have  been 
taken  a  few  hours  ago  or  have  lived  in  a  cage  for  years. 
In  short,  they  fight  at  all  times  and  under  all  circum- 
stances. When  free,  they  collect  at  an  appointed  spot; 
usually  a  moist  elevation  covered  with  short  grass  and 
about  two  metres  in  diameter  is  chosen  for  the  arena, 
and  is  resorted  to  several  times  daily  by  a  certain  num- 

*  Descent  of  Man,  ii.  p.  48. 
f  Nauraann,  yii,  p.  535. 

X  Among  students,  to  be  called  a  dunce,  to  be  jostled,  or  even 
gazed  at,  is  cause  enough. 
12 


152  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

ber  of  males.  . . .  The  first  arrival  looks  anxiously  about 
for  a  second,  but  when  he  comes,  should  he  prove  not 
exactly  fit,  a  third  and  fourth  are  awaited,  and  then  the 
battle  opens.  Each  having  found  his  antagonist,  they 
fall  to,  fly  at  each  other,  and  fight  vigorously  till 
they  are  tired,  when  each  returns  to  his  place  to  rest 
and  collect  his  strength  for  the  next  round.  This  goes 
on  till  they  are  exhausted  and  retire  from  the  field,  to 
return  soon,  however,  in  most  cases.  More  than  two 
never  fight  together,  but  if  a  good  many  are  on  the 
ground  at  once,  as  often  happens,  they  fight  in  pairs, 
and  cross  one  another  in  such  marvellous  leaps  and 
bounds  that  a  spectator  at  a  little  distance  would  think 
the  birds  were  possessed  of  an  evil  spirit,  or  else  gone 
crazy. 

"  When  two  of  these  birds  come  upon  a  grain  at  the 
same  time,  they  both  stand  still  at  first,  trembling  with 
rage,  then  stooping  so  that  the  hind  part  of  the  body 
is  higher  than  the  head,  and  rufiiing  up  their  feathers, 
they  dart  at  each  other,  dealing  sharp  blows.  .  .  . 
Sometimes  a  female  comes  to  the  battle  ground  and 
takes  a  place  with  the  fighting  males,  yet  she  does  not 
long  mix  in  the  strife,  but  soon  goes  away.  It  may 
happen  that  a  male  accompanies  her  and  stays  with 
her,  but  two  males  never  leave  together  or  chase  one 
another  on  the  wing.  The  battle  is  fought  out  on  the 
ground,  and  then  peace  is  established." 

5.  Constructive  Arts. 

It  is  true  that  very  few  of  the  phenomena  connected 
with  building  by  animals  have  anything  to  do  with  the 
psychology  of  play,  but  before  taking  any  further  steps 
it  is  necessary  to  inquire  into  the  part  played  by  in- 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  153 

stinct  in  the  exercise  of  constructive  skill  by  the  higher 
animals,  and  especially  by  birds. 

Wallace,  in  his  Philosophy  of  Birds'  Nests,  has  tried 
to  prove  that  inherited  instinct  has  very  little  to  do  with 
it.  The  material,  he  says,  depends  on  circumstances, 
and  the  form  partly  on  natural  impulse,  but  chiefly  on 
imitation.  The  young  bird  lives  in  the  nest  for  days 
and  weeks  and  learns  to  know  its  every  detail.  Dur- 
ing the  time  he  is  learning  to  fly  he  studies  the  out- 
side, and  naturally  keeps  a  memory  picture  of  the 
parental  home  against  his  own  time  of  need,  when  he 
imitates  it.  The  manner  of  building  which  has  become 
tradition  through  imitation,  among  savage  tribes,  is  thus 
seen  also  among  the  higher  animals. 

Worthy  of  respectful  consideration  as  these  opin- 
ions undoubtedly  are,  it  is  extremely  probable,  to  say 
the  least,  that  Wallace  has  gone  too  far.     Though  here 
and  there  imitation  may  play  a  more  or  less  important 
part  in  this  work,  it  would  be  hard  to  dispense  with 
the  idea  that  hereditary  impulse  is,  as  a  rule,  responsi- 
ble for  the  constructive  skill  of  animals.     The  making 
of  a  chrysalis  by  the  moth  is  so  unquestionably  instinc- 
tive that  no  one  will  deny  it,  and  such  facts  among  the 
lower  orders  naturally  lead  us  to  consider  the  case  of 
higher  animals  analogous.    It  should  be  borne  in  mind, 
too,  that  young  birds  of  the  kinds  that  nest  but  once 
can  not  in  this  way  learn  the  manner  of  constructing  a 
nest,  since  the  finished  one  shows  little  of  the  process. 
Weir  wrote  to  Darwin  in  1868:  "  The  more  I  reflect  on 
Mr.  Wallace's  theory  that  birds  learn  to  make  their 
nests  because  they  have  been  themselves  reared  in  one, 
the  less  inclined  do  I  feel  to  agree  with  him.  ...  It 
is  usual  with  many  canary  fanciers  to  take  out  the  nest 
constructed  by  the  parent  birds  and  to  put  a  felt  nest 


154  THE  PLAY   OF  ANIMALS. 

in  its  place,  and  when  the  young  are  hatched  and  old 
enough  to  be  handled,  to  place  a  second  clean  nest,  also 
of  felt,  in  the  box,  removing  the  other,  and  this  is  done 
to  avoid  acari.  But  I  never  knew  that  canaries  so  reared 
failed  to  make  a  nest  when  the  breeding  time  arrived. 
I  have,  on  the  other  hand,  marvelled  to  see  how  like 
a  wild  bird's  their  nests  were  constructed/'  * 

It  is,  of  course,  difficult  to  determine  how  much  is 
due  to  instinct  and  how  much  to  intelligence,  for  no 
one  claims  that  the  building  of  higher  animals  is  purely 
instinctive.  Take,  for  example,  Xaumann's  beautiful 
description  of  the  skilfuU}^  made  nests  of  the  golden 
oriole,  so  like  an  inverted  nightcap :  "  One  of  them 
(usually  the  male)  comes  flying  with  a  long  thread  or 
grass  blade  in  his  bill  and  tries  to  fasten  the  end  of  it 
to  a  bough,  perhaps  with  the  help  of  his  spittle,  while 
the  female  catches  the  loose  end  and  ffies  with  it  two  or 
three  times  around  the  bough  and  fastens  it  in  the  same 
way  to  a  forked  limb  opposite."  f 

This  can  not  be  all  instinct;  it  is  a  case  where 
inherited  instinct  and  individual  experience  work  to- 
gether. The  Miillers  have  expressed  their  belief  that, 
though  old  birds  usually  build  better  than  their  young 
when  there  is  any  difference  at  all,  still  the  instinct  for 
building  is,  after  all,  a  gift  of  Nature. J 

"  The  ravenous  screeching  young  owls  do  not  think 
of  making  studies  in  architecture.  ...  If  the  parents 
have  a  second  brood,  the  young  of  the  first  never  come 
near  them,  nor  does  it  enter  their  heads  to  take  lessons 
in  building.* 

*  Romanes,  Mental  Evolution  in  Animals,  p.  226. 

f  Naturgeschiohte  der  Vogel  Deutschlands,  ii,  p.  181. 
t  A.  and  K.  Mliller,  Thiere  der  Heimath,  1,  p.  39. 

*  Ibid.,  i,  p.  125. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  155 

"As  a  matter  of  fact,  no  naturalist  has  yet  been 
able  to  prove  that  old  birds  instruct  their  young  in 
nest-building.  It  would  be  impossible  for  those  that 
nest  but  once,  as  the  young  can  not  be  present  when  the 
parents  build;  yet  the  next  spring,  when  they  are  only 
a  year  old,  they  go  about  the  construction  of  their  own 
nest  with  as  much  assurance  as  if  they  had  been  in  the 
business  a  long  time."  * 

I  cite  Xaumann  next,  who  plainly  indicates  the  two- 
fold nature  of  the  phenomenon:  "  We  may  well  won- 
der at  the  mysterious  instinct  that  enables  young  birds 
to  build  at  their  first  attempt  nests  as  perfect  as  those 
of  their  parents,  and  similar  to  them  in  material,  posi- 
tion, and  form;  but  it  can  not  be  denied  that  their  art 
can  be  brought  to  even  greater  perfection  by  means  of 
practice."  f 

In  inquiring  now  as  to  the  connection  between  these 
arts  and  the  psychology  of  play,  it  becomes  apparent 
that  building  in  general  is  not  playful.  The  earthworks 
of  beavers,  foxes,  badgers,  fish-otters,  rabbits,  etc.,  the 
leafy  arbours  of  many  kinds  of  apes,  the  nests  of  the 
perch,  hedgehog,  squirrel,  field  mouse,  and  bird  serve 
a  purpose  that  is  directly  useful.  But  since  all  art  has 
at  least  some  likeness  to  play,  it  follows  that  building 
of  this  kind  is  not  properly  called  art,  any  more  than 
the  rude  shelters  of  our  primeval  ancestors  can  be  called 
products  of  architecture.  Only  in  special  cases,  then,  can 
we  speak  of  playful  building.  Darwin  sees  such  a  case  in 
the  well-known  fact  that  caged  birds  often  build  nests 
for  amusement,  when  they  have  no   occasion  to  use 


*  A.  and  K.  INriiller,  Wohnuncren.  Leben  und  Eigenthiimlich- 
keiten  der  hohoren  ThiVnvelt.  18P.0.  p.  216. 

f  Naturgescliichte  der  Vogel  Deutschlands,  i,  p.  97. 


15G  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

them.*  The  weaver  bird  offers  the  most  familiar  exam- 
ple. Cams,  too,  speaks  of  the  plaiting  "  which  many 
birds  work  at  if  prevented  from  building  nests  for  them- 
selves. It  is  especially  interesting  to  watch  the  Ploceus 
sanguinirostrisy  now  so  common  in  Europe,  when  it  can 
not  build  its  peculiar  purse-shaped  nest,  how  it  makes 
use  of  every  available  scrap  of  thread  or  straw  in  inter- 
weaving and  adorning  the  bars  of  its  cage.  Surely  this 
bird  evinces  a  certain  intelligence,  which  is  not  of  the 
lowest  order,  as  any  one  must  be  convinced  who  watches 
it  at  work  for  any  length  of  time — ^how  it  holds  a 
thread  in  its  claw,  seizes  it  with  the  beak,  pushes  it 
through  the  grating,  ties  a  good  knot,  and  proceeds  to 
weave  it  in  and  out."  f 

This  might  be  regarded  as  a  kind  of  play,  depending, 
however,  upon  the  abnormal  conditions  of  the  bird's  life. 
But  for  its  artificial  milieu  it  would  build  a  nest,  and 
since  instinct  forces  it  to  build  something,  its  activity 
assumes  a  playful  character,  owing  to  circumstances  im- 
posed by  man.  The  attempts  of  some  male  birds  to  build 
nests  on  their  own  account,  before  they  have  assumed 
the  responsibility  of  wedlock,  may,  however,  be  regarded 
as  purely  playful.  The  Miillers  tell  us  that  the  wren 
does  this,  sometimes  making  two  or  three  nests  imper- 
fectly alone,  before  he  unites  with  the  female  in  build- 
ing the  one  on  which  she  sits.  "  This  haste  to  build,'' 
says  the  observer,  "  is  nothing  but  happy  sportiveness 
on  the  part  of  the  little  creature  bewitched  by  love." 
It  is  probably  due  to  the  fact  that  the  awakening  of  sex- 
ual passion  arouses  all  the  instincts  connected  with  it 
to  activity.    Many  birds  pick  on  the  ground  during  their 

*  Descent  of  Man,  ii,  p.  52  f. 

t  C.  G.  Carus,  Vergleichende  Psychologie,  18C6,  p.  213. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  157 

courtship,  as  if  trying  to  take  something  up,  others  will 
throw  little  stones  behind  them,  and  still  others  carry 
about  on  their  beaks  a  small  feather  of  the  adored  one. 
The  action  of  the  wren  described  above  is  only  one 
step  further  in  the  same  direction,  and  we  find  its  cul- 
mination in  the  wonderful  pleasure-house  of  the  bower 
bird.  Another  manifestation  of  it  is  found  in  the  fact 
that  during  the  time  of  their  courtship  many  female 
birds  allow  themselves  to  be  fed  by  the  male,  just  as  the 
young  are  later  on. 

But  more  important  for  our  purpose  are  the  strange 
methods  of  building  ornamentation  employed  by  some 
animals.  If  no  other  meaning  can  be  discovered  for 
them,  they  may  very  properly  be  regarded  as  playful. 
I  know  of  only  two  instances  in  mammals,  and  the  first 
of  these  is  imperfectly  vouched  for  and  dubious.  Dar- 
win says  that  the  viscacha,  a  South  American  rodent, 
has  the  remarkable  habit  of  collecting  at  the  mouth  of 
its  burrow  every  portable  object  within  its  reach,  so 
that  heaps  of  stones,  bones,  thistle  stalks,  lumps  of  earth, 
dry  dung,  etc.,  are  found  near  their  holes.  It  is  even 
related  of  a  traveller  who  lost  his  watch  in  the  region 
that  he  recovered  it  by  searching  among  the  viscacha 
mounds  along  the  way.* 

Hudson  corroborates  these  reports,  and  finds  a  use 
for  the  habit :  "  For  as  the  viscachas  are  continually 
deepening  and  widening  their  burrows,  the  earth  thrown 
out  soon  covers  these  materials,  and  so  assists  in  raising 
the  mounds,"  which  protect  their  dwellings  from  over- 
flow, f  He  further  remarks  that  these  animals  always 
build  in  an  open  plain,  on  even,  close-shaven  turf,  where 

*  Dfirwin,  Journey  aronnrl  the  World. 
f  The  Naturalist  in  La  Plata,  p.  304 


158  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

an  approaching  enemy  can  easily  be  descried.  This  in- 
stinct for  clearing  the  ground  Hudson  considers  sufficient 
to  explain  the  collection  of  objects  lying  about.  If  Hud- 
son is  right,  as  seems  probable,  there  is,  of  course,  noth- 
ing playful  about  it.  Darwin,  on  the  contrary,  thought 
this  habit  of  the  viscachas  analogous  to  that  of  certain 
birds  which  I  will  now  describe.  The  Australian  atlas 
bird  {Calodera  maculata)  builds  an  intricately  woven 
structure  of  twigs  to  play  in,  and  collects  near  it  shells, 
bones,  and  feathers,  especially  those  brightly  coloured. 
Mr.  Gould  says  that  when  the  natives  lose  any  small, 
hard  objects  they  at  once  search  these  places,  and  he 
knew  of  a  pipe  that  was  recovered  in  this  way.* 

If  Darwin  regarded  these  as  the  only  examples  of 
the  kind,  he  must  have  overlooked  some  familiar  in- 
stances. One  at  least  relating  to  mammals  is  cited 
by  James  from  Lindsay's  Mind  in  Lower  Animals. 
Keferring  to  a  nest  of  the  Californian  wood  rat,  which 
he  discovered  in  an  unoccupied  house:  "I  found  the 
outside  to  be  composed  entirely  of  spikes,  all  laid  with 
symmetry,  so  as  to  present  the  points  of  the  nails  out- 
ward. In  the  centre  of  this  mass  was  the  nest,  com- 
posed of  finely  divided  fibres  of  hemp  packing.  In- 
terlaced with  the  spikes  were  the  following:  About  two 
dozen  knives,  forks,  and  spoons;  all  the  butcher's  knives 
— three  in  number — a  large  carving  knife,  fork,  and 
steel;  several  large  plugs  of  tobacco,  ...  an  old  purse, 
containing  some  silver,  matches,  and  tobacco;  nearly 
all  the  small  tools  from  the  tool  closets,  with  several 
large  augers,  ...  all  of  which  must  have  been  trans- 
ported some  distance,  as  they  were  originally  stored  in 
distant  parts  of  the  house.  .  .  .  The  outside  casing  of 

*  Darwin,  loc.  cit. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  159 

a  silver  watch  was  disposed  of  in  one  part  of  the  pile, 
the  glass  of  the  same  watch  in  another,  and  the  works 
in  still  another/^  * 

The  other  examples  are  of  birds.  The  so-called 
thieving  of  crows  and  ravens  shows  their  characteristic 
bent  in  its  simplest  form,  for  they  all  delight  to  carry 
small,  bright  objects  to  their  nests.  Nanmann  certifies 
to  it  of  the  pond  raven,  crow,  hooded  raven,  curlew, 
jackdaw,  and  magpie,  f  The  bastard  nightingale  also 
likes  to  trim  the  outside  of  its  nest  with  bark,  feathers, 
shavings,  and  scraps  of  paper.  J  The  Miillers  describe 
a  wren's  nest  that  was  lined  with  bright  yellow  chicken 
feathers.*  Romanes  says  that  there  are  "  many  spe- 
cies of  birds  that  habitually  adorn  their  nests  with 
gaily  coloured  feathers,  wool,  cotton,  or  other  gaudy 
material.  ...  In  many  cases  a  marked  preference  is 
shown  for  particular  objects,  as,  for  instance,  in  tlie 
case  of  the  Syrian  nuthatch,  which  chooses  the  irides- 
cent wings  of  insects,  or  that  of  the  great  crested  fly- 
catcher, which  similarly  chooses  the  cast-off  skins  of 
snakes.  But  no  doubt  the  most  remarkable  of  these 
cases  is  that  of  the  Baya  bird  of  Asia,  which,  after  hav- 
ing completed  its  bottle-shaped  and  chambered  nest, 
studs  it  over  with  small  lumps  of  clay,  both  inside  and 
out,  upon  which  the  cock  bird  sticks  fireflies,  appar- 
ently for  the  sole  purpose  of  securing  a  brilliantly  dec- 
orative effect.  Other  birds,  such  as  the  hammer-head 
of  Africa,  adorn  the  surroundings  of  their  nests,  which 
are  built  upon  the  ground,  with  shells,  bones,  pieces 
of  broken  glass  and  earthenware,  or  any  objects  of  a 

*  James,  The  Principles  of  Psycholofjy,  ii.  p.  424. 

f  Naturfreschichte  der  Vofrel  Dentschlands,  ii,  p.  50. 
X  A.  and  K.  Mliller,  Thiere  der  Heimath,  i,  p.  56. 

#  Ibid.,  i,  p.  61. 


160  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS, 

bright  and  conspicuous  character  which  they  may  hap- 
pen to  find/'  * 

Still  more  remarkable  is  the  case  of  the  bower  bird, 
which  does  not,  indeed,  adorn  its  nest,  but  builds  a  play- 
house, in  the  shape  of  a  tunnel  on  the  ground,  entirely 
for  the  purposes  of  courtship,  and  decorates  it  in  every 
possible  way.  Both  sexes  w^ork  in  its  construction,  but 
the  male  is  the  director. 

So  strong  is  this  instinct  that  it  is  practised  under 
confinement,  and  Mr.  Strange  has  described  the  habits 
of  some  satin  bower  birds  which  he  kept  in  an  aviary 
in  New  South  Wales:  "At  times  the  male  will  chase 
the  female  all  over  the  aviary,  then  go  to  the  bower, 
pick  up  a  gay  feather  or  a  large  leaf,  utter  a  curious 
kind  of  note,  set  all  his  feathers  erect,  run  round  the 
bower,  and  become  so  excited  that  his  eyes  appear 
ready  to  start  from  his  head;  he  continues  opening  first 
one  wing  and  then  the  other,  uttering  a  low,  whistling 
note,  and,  like  the  domestic  cock,  seems  to  be  picking 
up  something  from  the  ground,  until  at  last  the  female 
goes  quietly  toward  him."  Captain  Stokes  has  described 
the  habits  and  "  playhouses  "  of  another  species — the 
great  bower  bird — which  was  seen  "  amusing  itself  by 
flying  backward  and  forward,  taking  a  shell  alternately 
from  each  side,  and  carrying  it  in  its  mouth  through  the 
archway.  These  curious  structures,  formed  solely  as 
halls  of  assemblage,  where  both  sexes  amuse  them- 
selves and  pay  their  court,  must  cost  the  birds  much 
labour.  The  bower,  for  instance,  of  the  fawn-breasted 
species  is  nearly  four  feet  in  length,  eighteen  inches  in 
height,  and  is  raised  on  a  thick  platform  of  sticks/' f 


*  Romanes,  Darwin  and  after  Darwin,  i,  p.  380. 
f  Cf.  Darwin,  Descent  of  Man,  vol.  ii,  p.  77. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  161 

Moreover,  these  bowers  are  elaborately  decorated,  and 
the  manner  of  decoration  differs  in  the  three  varieties 
of  birds.  "  The  satin  bower  bird  collects  gaily  coloured 
articles,  such  as  the  blue  tail  feathers  of  parrakeets, 
bleached  bones,  and  shells,  which  it  sticks  between  the 
twigs  or  arranges  at  the  entrance.  Mr.  Gould  found  in 
one  bower  a  neatly  worked  stone  tomahawk  and  a  slip 
of  blue  cotton,  evidently  procured  from  a  native  en- 
campment. These  objects  are  continually  rearranged 
and  carried  about  by  the  birds  while  at  play.  The 
bower  of  the  spotted  bower  bird  '  is  beautifully  lined 
with  tall  grasses,  so  disposed  that  the  heads  nearly  meet, 
and  the  decorations  are  very  profuse.'  Eound  stones 
are  used  to  keep  the  grass  stems  in  their  proper  places 
and  to  make  divergent  paths  leading  to  the  bower.  The 
stones  and  shells  are  often  brought  from  a  great  dis- 
tance. The  regent  bird,  as  described  by  Mr.  Ramsay, 
ornamented  its  short  bower  with  bleached  land  shells 
belonging  to  five  or  six  species  and  with  berries  of  vari- 
ous colours — blue,  red,  and  black — which  give  it  when 
fresh  a  very  pretty  appearance.  Besides  these  there 
were  several  newly  picked  leaves  and  young  shoots  of 
a  pinkish  colour,  the  whole  showing  a  decided  taste  for 
the  beautiful.  Well  may  Mr.  Gould  say,  ^  These  highly 
decorated  halls  of  assembly  must  be  regarded  as  the 
most  wonderful  instances  of  bird  architecture  yet  dis- 
covered,' and  the  taste,  as  we  see  of  several  species,  cer- 
tainly differs."  * 

In  reviewing  these  strange  practices  of  birds  found 
in  such  various  parts  of  the  earth,  we  find  that,  though 
here  and  there  an  explanation  like  that  of  Hudson  for 
the  viscachas  may  be  hazarded,  in  the  main  no  better 

*  Descent  of  Man,  vol.  ii,  p.  124. 


162  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

ground  exists  for  them  than  the  fact  that  the  birds  take 
pleasure  in  possessing  objects  that  are  gaily  coloured 
or  bright.  Our  next  question,  then,  is,  Whence  arises 
this  delight  in  bright  and  gaily  coloured  things? 
Since  Darwin's  time  it  is  the  custom  to  attribute  every- 
thing of  this  kind  to  a  direct  aesthetic  enjoyment  of  the 
beautiful.  But  that  is  an  unsatisfactory  explanation, 
originating  in  a  misconception  of  the  essentials  of  aes- 
thetics. At  the  most,  such  satisfaction  as  these  birds 
feel  can  only  be  regarded  as  a  stimulus  to  sensuous 
pleasure,  which,  strictly  speaking,  is  not  aesthetic  en- 
joyment at  all.  For  the  full  perception  of  beauty,  the 
sensuous  pleasure  arises  first  when,  through  the  function 
which  I  have  called  "  inner  imitation,''  the  sensuously 
pleasing  object  takes  on  spiritual  embodiment.  It  is 
highly  improbable  that  a  psychological  operation  such 
as  this,  which  is  rarely  called  forth  even  in  men  in 
its  full  strength,  should  be  developed  in  animals. 
What  they  Teally  feel  is  the  pleasure  of  the  senses  pro- 
duced by  physical  well-being  without  reference  to  aes- 
thetics, such  as  may  be  produced  in  ourselves  by  the  con- 
templation of  a  clear  sky,  pure  air,  and  green  fields. 
This  sensuous  delight  in  what  is  bright  and  gay  is  an 
important  antecedent  to  esthetic  pleasure  because  it 
assures  a  lively  perception  of  the  object,  but  it  should 
not  be  mistaken  for  aesthetic  pleasure  itself. 

Further,  we  may  well  suspect  that  this  delight  in 
striking  colours  and  forms  is  not  unconnected  with  the 
sexual  life.  It  is  well  known  that  Darwin  teaches  that 
these  characteristics  in  male  birds  largely  control  sexual 
selection.  Later  I  shall  discuss  the  question  whether 
we  can  rightly  refer  the  origin  of  such  phenomena  to 
sexual  selection,  even  though  its  later  influence  be 
granted.     There  can  be  no  doubt  that  animals  are  ex- 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  163 

cited  in  this  way  by  the  display  of  what  might  be  called 
their  wedding  finery,  but  this  feeling  may  very  well  be 
extended  by  association  to  other  and  unusual  things, 
all  of  which  the  birds  are  attracted  to  because  of  their 
tendency  to  produce  sexual  excitement.*  The  follow- 
ing anecdote,  given  to  Eomanes  by  a  lady,  illustrates 
this: 

"  A  white  fantail  pigeon  lived  with  his  family  in  a 
pigeon  house  in  our  stable  yard.  He  and  his  wife  had 
been  brought  originally  from  Sussex,  and  had  lived, 
respected  and  admired,  to  see  their  children  of  the  third 
generation,  when  he  suddenly  became  the  victim  of 
the  infatuation  I  am  about  to  describe. 

"  No  eccentricity  whatever  was  remarked  in  his  con- 
duct until  one  day  I  chanced  to  pick  up  somewhere  in 
the  garden  a  ginger-beer  bottle  of  the  ordinary  brown- 
stone  description.  I  flung  it  into  the  yard,  where  it 
fell  immediately  below  the  pigeon  house.  That  instant 
down  flew  'pater  familias,  and  to  my  no  small  astonish- 
ment commenced  a  series  of  genuflections,  evidently 
doing  homage  to  the  bottle.  He  strutted  round  and 
round  it,  bowing  and  scraping  and  cooing  and  per- 
forming the  most  ludicrous  antics  I  ever  beheld  on  the 
part  of  an  enamoured  pigeon.  .  .  .  Nor  did  he  cease 
these  performances  until  we  removed  the  bottle,  and, 
which  proved  that  this  singular  aberration  of  instinct 
had  become  a  fixed  delusion,  whenever  the  bottle  was 
thrown  or  placed  in  the  yard — no  matter  whether  it 
lay  horizontally  or  was  placed  upright — the  same  ridic- 
ulous scene  was  enacted;  at  that  moment  the  pigeon 
came  flying  down  with  quite  as  great  alacrity  as  when 

*  I  find  a  similar  idea  advanced  in  Lloyd  Morgan's  Animal 
Life  and  Intelligence,  p.  408. 


1(54  THE  PLAY  OF   AXIMALS. 

his  peas  were  thrown  out  for  dinner,  to  continue  his 
antics  as  long  as  the  bottle  remained  there.  Some- 
times this  would  go  on  for  hours,  the  other  members 
of  the  family  treating  his  movements  with  the  most 
contemptuous  indifference  and  taking  no  notice  what- 
ever of  the  bottle.  At  last  it  became  the  regular  amuse- 
ment with  which  we  entertained  our  visitors,  to  see 
this  erratic  pigeon  making  love  to  the  interesting  ob- 
ject of  his  affections,  and  it  was  an  entertainment  which 
never  failed,  throughout  that  summer  at  least.  Be- 
fore next  summer  came  he  was  no  more."  * 

Eomanes  agrees  with  the  lady  who  wrote  the  de- 
scription in  regarding  this  as  a  pathological  case,  but, 
even  if  that  is  correct,  still  the  actions  of  this  pigeon 
throw  some  light  on  the  question  we  have  been  consid- 
ering. In  order  to  estimate  their  real  relation  to  play 
we  must  return  to  our  first  division,  namely,  experi- 
mentation. Since  seizing,  holding,  and  carrying  things 
about  form  one  manifestation  of  experimentation,  it  is 
natural  that  an  unusual  object  should  excite  the  atten- 
tion and  give  pleasure  to  animals.  A  child,  too,  takes 
pleasure  in  collecting  bright  objects,  and  the  fact 
that  they,  as  well  as  some  birds — the  warbler,  for  in- 
stance— are  continually  handling  their  treasures,  carry- 
ing them  from  place  to  place  and  rearranging  them, 
clearly  shows  the  experimental  character  of  such  habits. 
An  instinct  very  closely  connected  with  experimenta- 
tion, but  not  yet  mentioned,  is  involved  here,  for  where 
we  find  pleasure  in  power,  pleasure  in  ownership  is  not 
far  off.  James  calls  this  the  instinct  of  appropriation  or 
acquisitiveness.  "  The  beginnings  of  acquisitiveness," 
says  he,  "  are  seen  in  the  impulse  which  very  young 

*  Romanes,  Mental  Evolution  in  Animals,  p.  173. 


THE   PLAY  OP  ANIMALS.  165 

children  display  to  snatch  at  or  beg  for  any  object 
which  pleases  their  attention/^  *  I  regard  the  instinct 
whose  mandate  in  the  struggle  for  life  is,  "  Keep  what 
you  can  get/'  as  very  important.  Men  and  animals 
must  learn  not  only  to  acquire,  but  also  to  defend  and 
protect  their  property  with  tenacious  energy.  Plow 
purely  instinctive  this  is,  is  shown  by  the  tame  canary 
that  will  peck  angrily  at  the  hand  of  even  its  beloved 
owner,  that  has  just  given  it  the  bit  of  salad  or  apple 
which  it  now  defends. 

But  there  is  a  playful  side  to  it  as  well,  as  witness 
the  stubbornness  with  which  a  dog  at  play  will  cling 
to  the  stick  in  opposition  to  his  master.  As  James  re- 
marks, the  zeal  for  collecting  is  the  most  common  form 
of  it  among  ourselves.  "  Boys  will  collect  anything 
that  they  see  another  boy  collect,  from  pieces  of  chalk 
and  peach-pits  up  to  books  and  photographs.  Out  of 
a  hundred  students  whom  I  questioned,  only  four  or 
five  had  never  collected  anything."  f  This  passion  is 
highly  developed  among  the  mentally  deranged.  Many 
patients  in  lunatic  asylums  have  a  mania  for  picking 
out  and  treasuring  all  the  pins  they  can  find.  Others 
collect  scraps  of  thread,  buttons,  rags,  etc.,  and  are 
happy  in  possessing  them.J:  The  thieving  of  jackdaws 
and  magpies  is  something  like  this. 

Finally,  this  observation  is  to  be  noted.     In  all  the 

cases  we  have  considered  the  desire  to  experiment  with 

or  to  get  possession  of  objects  has  been  directed  to  such 

.  things  as  were  bright  or  gaily  coloured.     Now,  if  we 

find  in  the  preference  for  such  things  an  antecedent 

*  The  Principles  of  Psychology,  ii,  p.  422. 
t  Ibid.,  ii,  p.  423. 

i  Ibid.,  ii,  p.  424.  Kleptomania,  too,  belongs  to  the  pathology 
of  this  instinct. 


166  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

to  aesthetic  enjoyment,  surely  the  same  instinct  di- 
rected toward  building  can  be  regarded  as  an  antece- 
dent to  aesthetic  production.  I  find  three  principles 
influential  in  the  production  of  human  art:  First, 
self-exhihition  *  (Selbstdarstellung);  second,  imitation; 
third,  ornamentation.  Now  one  of  these  and  now  an- 
other seems  to  be  more  important,  but  it  always  proves 
on  examination  that  they  are  all  essential.  (I  shall 
have  more  to  say  on  this  point  in  the  last  chapter.) 
The  examples  I  have  cited  emphasize  the  principle  of 
ornamentation  chiefly,  but  the  other  two  were  present 
also.  The  habits  of  the  warbler,  for  instance,  suggest 
that  inherited  instinct  is  not  working  alone,  but  is  as- 
sisted by  tradition,  for  the  younger  birds  seem  to  imitate 
what  they  see  their  elders  do.  So  it  appears  that  imi- 
tation has  a  part  in  the  formation  of  any  habit  where 
the  young  prefer,  as  their  model,  those  of  the  older  ones 
who  have  distinguished  themselves  in  the  art  in  ques- 
tion. 

Something  akin  to  self-exhibifion  is  discernible  too. 
That  feeling  which  is  so  plainly  shown  in  the  sportive 
love-making  of  the  bird  probably  has  something  to  do 
with  the  fanciful  trimming  of  his  nest.  Just  as  we 
extend  our  ego  to  the  ends  of  our  canes  and  to  the  top 
of  our  high  hats,  as  Lotze  says.  Just  as  we  are  vain  of 
well-made  clothes,  of  a  fine  establishment,  of  the  orna- 
mental fagade  of  our  house,  or  even  of  the  advantages 
of  the  neighbourhood  in  which  we  live,  so  the  bird 
may  feel  a  pride  in  the  striking  or  sensuous  pleasing 
object,  that  is  akin  to  self-exhibition. 


*  [An  English  term  suggested  by  Baldwin  (Psycholog.  Review, 
i,  Nov.,  1894,  p.  620),  with  reference  to  Marshall's  Pain,  Pleasure, 
and  Esthetics,  and  accepted  by  Marshall.] 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  1G7 

These  thoughts  are  merely  thrown  out,  not  as  seri- 
ous statements,  nor  even  as  hypotheses,  but  rather  as 
half-playful  speculation  as  to  what  may  be  going  on  in 
the  bird's  mind,  and  may  be  taken  for  what  they  are 
worth.  However,  it  remains  true  that  our  point  of 
departure,  namely,  the  delight  in  what  is  bright  or  gay, 
is  very  remarkable,  is  a  mental  capability  bringing  the 
animal  that  possesses  it  into  line  with  primitive  man 
at  this  one  point,  when  the  development  of  his  other 
faculties  lags  far  behind.  Their  case  is  like  that  of  one 
of  those  astonishing,  and  at  the  same  time  stupid,  mathe- 
matical geniuses,  whose  mental  capacity  is  inferior  to 
that  of  the  average  man  in  all  directions  save  one,  while 
his  ability  to  grasp  and  manipulate  series  of  numbers 
is  something  phenomenal.  But  we  must  bear  in  mind 
that  such  phenomena  may  after  all  be  explained  on 
grounds  of  practical  utility;  and  if  thus  explained  they 
have  no  place  in  the  psychology  of  play. 

6.  Nursing  Plays. 

During  the  time  that  I  spent  in  study  preparatory 
to  writing  this  book  I  naturally  became  much  interested 
in  human  play  as  well,  and  although  my  classification 
of  animal  play  has  not  to  my  knowledge  been  influenced 
by  any  system  of  human  play,  I  confess  that  I  am  now 
confronted  by  a  problem  that  would  not  have  been 
likely  to  attract  my  attention  if  I  had  not  seen  children 
at  play.  We  all  know  how  much  of  that  is  with  dolls, 
and  the  question  for  us  now  is  whether  there  is  anything 
analogous  to  it  in  the  animal  world.  Of  course,  an 
animal  in  its  natural  condition  can  never  be  the  possess- 
or of  a  doll — that  is,  a  plastic  representation  of  an  indi- 
vidual of  its  own  kind — and  even  if  one  were  given  him 
13 


1G8  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

he  would  not  know  how  to  play  with  it.  Romanes 
relates  of  the  same  ape  that  his  sister  so  admirably  de- 
scribed: "  1  bought  at  a  toyshop  a  very  good  imitation 
of  a  monkey  and  brought  it  into  the  room  with  the  real 
monkey,  stroking  and  speaking  to  it  as  if  it  were  alive. 
The  monkey  evidently  mistook  the  figure  for  a  real  ani- 
mal, manifesting  intense  curiosity,  mixed  with  much 
alarm  if  I  made  the  figure  approach  'him.  Even  when 
I  placed  the  figure  on  the  table  and  left  it  standing 
motionless  the  monkey  was  afraid  to  approach  it."  * 

My  St.  Bernard  displayed  feelings  of  curiosity  min- 
gled with  fear  when  I  held  an  imitation  white  poodle 
before  him,  and  as  I  made  the  figure  bark  his  aston- 
ishment recalled  Schiller's  verse  on  the  power  of  song: 

"  Amazed,  and  with  delicious  fear 
He  heard  the  minstrel's  lay,  and  hid." 

There  was  no  sign  of  a  wish  to  play  with  the 
doll.  But  this  does  not  dispose  of  the  subject.  Real 
dolls  are  not  the  only  thing  that  children  play  with. 
Little  girls  often  prefer  some  make-believe,  a  comb,  a 
fork,  a  stone,  a  bit  of  bread,  anything  they  happen  to 
fancy  they  will  tenderly  nurse,  feed,  put  to  bed,  and  dis- 
cipline. And  when  we  reflect  that  a  dog  treats  a  scrap 
of  wood  as  his  prey,  we  can  not  regard  as  a  priori  out 
of  the  question  for  the  animal's  fostering  instinct  to  fix 
on  an  object  of  the  same  kind.  But  while  I  admit 
this  as  an  a  'priori  possibility,  I  confess  that  I  am  un- 
able to  find  an  a  'posteriori  experimental  proof.  The 
only  cases  that  would  serve  in  this  connection  that  have 
come  under  my  observation  are  in  the  report  of  the 
Loango  Expedition.     There  Pechuel-Loesche  says:  "  It 


*  Animal  Intelligence,  p.  495. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  169 

was  something  entirely  new  to  me  to  see  the  monkeys 
take  lifeless  objects  for  playthings,  and,  like  children, 
carefully  put  them  to  bed  in  their  own  sleeping  boxes,  as 
well  as  care  for  them  during  the  day.  Isabella  devoted 
herself  for  a  long  time  to  a  little  canister,  and  Pavy 
to  a  little  crooked  stick  of  wood  which  in  his  wild  capers 
he  often  hurled  into  the  air.  Once  it  flew  too  far  and 
was  appropriated  by  Jack,  and  thereupon  deadly  enmity 
ensued.  As  their  chains  were  not  long  enough  for  them 
to  reach  one  another,  there  was  nothing  for  them  to  do 
but  get  as  near  together  as  possible  and  make  horrible 
faces  while  they  scolded.  Their  mutual  hatred  contin- 
ued until  I  gave  Pavy  back  his  stick.  Later  he  took  to 
petting  a  musket  ball,  while  Jack  conceived  a  passion 
for  a  thermometer.  As  soon  as  he  was  free  and  not 
watched,  he  hurried  to  it  and  carried  it  off.  He  evi- 
dently delighted  in  the  shining  glass,  but  handled  it  so 
carefully  that  the  instrument  was  never  injured,  even 
when  he  took  it  up  in  trees  and  on  the  roof  and  had  to 
be  coaxed  down."  * 

It  is  questionable  whether  there  is  any  analogy  to 
play  with  dolls  in  such  actions.  At  most,  the  putting 
things  to  bed  and  the  care  taken  of  the  thermometer 
are  all  that  could  be  considered  so;  but  so  long  as 
better  examples  are  wanting,  these  carry  very  little  con- 
viction. 

But  there  is  another  and  more  important  phase  of 
the  subject.  ^Mien  we  see  little  girls  playing  foster 
mother  to  their  younger  brothers  and  sisters,  and  even 
to  grown  ones,  and  when  we  see,  too,  how  lonely  women 
lavish  maternal  care  on  lapdogs,  which  is  really  play- 
ing, we  are  not  surprised  at  something  of  the  same  kind 


*  Loango  Expedition,  iii,  p.  246. 


170  THE  PLAY  OF  AMMALS. 

among  animals.  Among  the  innumerable  examples  of 
the  adoption  of  foster  children  and  of  animal  friends, 
there  are  many  that  suggest  play.  I  think,  however, 
that  those  cases  should  be  excepted  where  the  mother, 
being  robbed  of  her  own  young,  has  the  young  of  some 
other  animal  thrust  upon  her  by  some  experimenter — 
young  which  she  regards  with  surprise  but  without  a 
clear  understanding  of  the  deception. 

We  can  as  little  speak  of  play  in  such  a  case  as  in 
that  of  a  hen  that  tries  to  hatch  marble  eggs  that  have 
been  placed  under  her.  But  there  are  still  many  cases 
that  are  like  human  play,  and  I  will  cite  several  such 
examples.  The  fact  that  the  animal  adopted  is  often 
maltreated  and  even  in  danger  of  its  life  does  not  argue 
against  the  playful  intention.  We  see  little  girls  fre- 
quently become  very  careless  with  their  tenderly  nur- 
tured doll  babies;  we  see  them  in  the  midst  of  maternal 
cares  for  an  eatable  toy  make  nothing  of  biting  its  head 
off;  and  we  see  the  instinct  of  experimentation  and 
destruction  many  times  indulged  even  at  the  peril  of 
their  tame  pets  or  little  brother  or  sister,  in  spite  of  all 
the  love  for  them. 

Herr  E.  Duncker,  of  Berlin,  observed,  according 
to  Buchner's  report,  a  dog  on  a  farm  in  Pyrmont,  whose 
duty  it  was  to  watch  the  stock,  and  especially  the  poul- 
try. He  used  to  hunt  up  hidden  eggs  and  bring  them 
to  the  kitchen.*  "  One  day  he  placed  an  egg  on  the 
sofa  in  the  kitchen  instead  of  on  the  stone  floor,  as  usual. 
The  little  chick  imprisoned  in  it  was  trying  to  break 
the  shell,  and  after  the  egg  was  placed  in  a  wadded 

*  L.  Biichner,  Liebe  und  Liebesleben  in  der  Thierwelt,  p.  185. 
Most  of  the  observations  cited  here  are  from  this  book,  which,  it 
must  be  admitted,  does  not  seem  to  be  always  of  unimpeachable 
reliability. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  171 

basket  the  dog  helped  it  out  with  his  tongue  and  con- 
stituted himself  its  nurse.  He  let  the  chicken  drink 
from  the  end  of  his  tongue  dipped  in  water,  placed 
the  basket  in  the  sun,  and  petted  and  tended  the  little 
creature  with  unwearying  care.  When  it  grew  up  and 
was  badly  used  by  the  other  fowls  he  played  protector, 
and  the  hen  would  fly  on  his  back  and  appear  to  caress 
him.^^ 

Herr  Wilibald  Wulff  relates  that  on  a  visit  to  the 
family  of  a  friend  in  Schleswig  he  came  upon  a  terrier 
lying  in  a  basket  holding  two  kittens  with  his  fore  paws, 
while  two  more  clambered  on  his  back.  The  lady  of 
the  house  said,  in  answer  to  his  questions,  that  he  did 
this  many  times  in  a  day — so  often,  indeed,  that  the 
old  cat  had  deserted  her  5^oung.  He  was  far  more  care- 
ful of  them  than  the  mother  herself,  and  would  not 
allow  any  one  to  disturb  the  little  ones.  Dr.  Matthes 
brought  home  a  very  young  and  helpless  puppy,  and 
noticed  the  next  day  that  it  had  already  been  taken 
in  charge  by  an  old  male  dog.  He  lay  down  by  the 
whining  puppy,  licked  it,  and  growled  at  any  one  who 
came  near.  The  following  is  related  of  a  shepherd  dog 
by  Herr  Heinrich  Kichter:  "  This  remarkable  and  valu- 
able dog  had  the  habit  that  is  common  among  good  shep- 
herd dogs  of  biting  lightly  the  hind  leg,  just  below  the 
hock,  of  straying  sheep.  But  he  omitted  to  do  this  to 
one  of  the  sheep,  and  only  barked.  Even  at  the  com- 
mand of  the  shepherd  he  refused  to  bite  the  sheep 
and  only  barked  the  more  and  licked  it  so  that  it  be- 
came very  bold,  and  allowed  itself  more  freedom  than 
ever.  But  woe  to  any  other  sheep  who  was  emboldened 
by  its  example!  He  bit  them  all  the  more  and  punished 
them  severely,  as  if  to  make  up  for  his  laxity  in  the 
other  case.     It  was  at  last  necessary  to  take  away  the 


172  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

favourite  in  order  to  prevent  trouble,  but  even  this  was 
only  a  temporary  remedy,  for  the  dog  turned  his  affec- 
tion toward  another  sheep  and  acted  as  before."  The 
owner  of  a  truck  farm,  says  the  Eevue  d' Anthropologic, 
noticed  that  a  basket  which  he  had  filled  with  carrots 
was  unaccountably  empty.  The  gardener,  when  ques- 
tioned, knew  nothing  about  it,  and  proposed  hiding 
behind  a  lattice  to  watch  for  the  thief.  They  did  so, 
after  refilling  the  basket.  Soon  a  sound  put  them  on 
their  guard,  and  they  saw  the  house  dog  take  a  carrot 
in  his  mouth  and  slink  off  toward  the  stable.  Dogs 
do  not  eat  raw  carrots,  so  our  watchers  followed  the 
rogue  and  discovered  that  he  was  taking  the  carrots 
to  a  horse  in  whose  stall  he  was  in  the  habit  of  sleeping. 
Wagging  his  tail,  he  presented  his  prize,  and  the  horse 
naturally  needed  little  urging  to  accept  it.  The  angry 
gardener  reached  for  a  stick  with  which  to  punish  the 
too  zealous  friend,  but  his  master  restrained  him,  and 
the  scene  was  repeated  until  the  supply  of  carrots  was 
exhausted.  This  horse  was  evidently  the  dog's  chosen 
favourite,  for  he  scarcely  noticed  the  other  one  that 
lived  in  the  same  stall,  not  to  speak  of  giving  him  car- 
rots. Fraulein  Fanny  Bezold,  of  Heidingsfeld,  had  a 
shaggy  terrier  named  "  Schnauz  "  that  one  day  brought 
home  a  rabbit  that  he  had  caught  at  a  farm  about  half 
a  mile  distant,  and  devoted  himself  to  it.  He  played 
with  his  pet  and  defended  it  from  the  attacks  of  other 
animals  and  watched  it  anxiously  when  the  children 
of  the  neighbourhood  came  in  to  see  it.  Herr  Otmar 
Wild,  in  Zittau,  writes  to  Biichner  about  the  friendship 
between  his  setter  one  year  old  and  a  pullet.  They 
sleep  side  by  side,  or  the  hen  on  the  dog's  back.  He  ex- 
presses his  tenderness  by  licking  his  little  friend,  and  she 
shows  her  appreciation  of  it  by  picking  about  in  his  hair. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  173 

Many  similar  instances  are  recorded,  tending  to 
show  that  while  this  instinct  is  strongest  in  the  female, 
it  is  not  wanting  in  male  animals,  and  that  even  among 
the  fiercest  animals  the  male  assists  in  caring  for  and 
rearing  the  young. 

Eecorded  examples  are  naturally  most  abundant 
among  domestic  animals.  Mr.  Oswald  Fitch  writes  of 
a  house  cat:  "  It  was  observed  to  take  some  fish  bones 
from  the  house  to  the  garden  and,  being  followed,  was 
seen  to  have  placed  them  in  front  of  a  miserably  thin 
and  evidently  hungry  stranger  cat,  who  was  devouring 
them;  not  satisfied  with  that,  our  cat  returned,  pro- 
cured a  fresh  supply,  and  repeated  its  charitable  offer, 
which  was  apparently  as  thankfully  accepted.  This  act 
of  benevolence  over,  our  cat  returned  to  its  accustomed 
dining  place,  the  scullery,  and  ate  its  own  dinner  off 
the  remainder  of  the  bones.^'  * 

If  the  playful  character  of  this  action  seems  doubt- 
ful, it  is  certainly  present  in  Bticllner^s  narrative  which 
follows:  At  the  mill  near  Hildburghausen  there  was  a 
cat  that  rejoiced  in  the  name  of  ''  Lies."  She  extended 
her  maternal  care  not  only  to  little  chickens,  but  to 
young  ducks  and  other  birds  as  well.  Once,  immediately 
before  the  birth  of  four  kittens,  she  brought  six  chicks, 
just  hatched,  to  the  basket  prepared  for  her.  She  had 
some  trouble  in  keeping  the  restless  brood  together, 
especially  when  her  kittens  came — in  three  days — but 
she  never  relaxed  her  care  for  the  foster  children.  On 
the  contrary,  she  soon  brought  to  the  nest  three  young 
ducks  and  a  little  red  wagtail  which  she  took  from  a 
nest  near  by.     Her  loving  care  was  bestowed  impar- 

*  Xature.  April  9,  1883.    See  Romanes,  Mental  Evolution  in 
Animals,  p.  345. 


174  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

tially  on  the  motley  crowd  of  nurslings,  and  she  good- 
naturedly  allowed  the  little  chicks  to  peck  at  her  nose 
and  eyes.  When  they  grew  larger  and  ran  about,  they 
gave  their  foster  mother  endless  trouble  to  bring  them 
back  and  keep  them  safe,  and  by  their  constant  peck- 
ing they  made  her  neck  quite  bare.  Fraulein  Johanna 
Baltz,  of  Arnsberg,  saw  a  large  cat  in  the  house  of  a 
friend  acting  as  the  protector  of  five  little  chickens, 
whose  mother  had  been  lost.  The  cat  warmed  and  pro- 
tected the  tiny  creatures  when  she  first  saw  them,  and  it 
was  a  beautiful  picture  to  see  the  cunning  little  heads,  with 
their  bright  eyes  peering  out  from  under  the  gray  fur. 
Brehm  has  a  great  deal  to  say  about  this  kind  of 
play  among  monkeys.  An  orang-utang  that  Cuvier 
used  to  watch  in  Paris  won  the  affection  of  two  little 
kittens,  which  he  often  held  under  his  arm  or  set  on 
his  head,  although  their  sharp  clinging  claws  must  have 
hurt  him.  Once  he  examined  their  paws  and  tried  to 
pull  out  the  claws  with  his  fingers.  He  did  not  suc- 
ceed in  this,  but  preferred  to  bear  the  pain  rather  than 
give  up  playing  with  his  pets.  A  baboon  named 
"■  Perro,^^  that  belonged  to  L.  Brehm,  brother  of  the 
author  of  Thierleben,  showed  a  strong  partiality  for 
young  animals  of  all  sorts.  "  When  we  were  going  to 
Alexandria  we  had  him  chained  to  the  baggage  wagon, 
giving  him  a  long  enough  leash  to  do  anything  he 
wanted,  short  of  running  away.  As  we  entered  the 
city  Perro  spied  a  bitch  lying  in  her  kennel  near  the 
street  and  peacefully  suckling  four  beautiful  pups.  To 
spring  from  the  wagon  and  snatch  one  of  the  sucklings 
from  its  mother  was  the  work  of  a  moment,  but  regain- 
ing his  place  was  another  matter.  The  dog,  enraged  by 
the  monkey's  audacity,  flew  at  him  madly,  and  Perro 
had  to  exert  all  his  strength  to  withstand  her  attack. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  175 

The  wagon  moved  steadily  onAvard,  and  he  had  none  too 
much  time  to  clamber  in  it  when  she  sprang  upon  him. 
Holding  the  pupjDy  between  his  upper  arm  and  breast, 
and  seizing  the  chain  which  impeded  him  with  the  same 
hand,  he  ran  on  his  hind  legs  and  defended  himself 
bravely  with  one  arm.     His  courageous  defence  won  the 
admiration  of  the  Arabs  to  such  a  degree  that  no  one 
attempted  to  take  the  stolen  puppy  from  him,  and  they 
finally  drove  the  mother  away.    Unmolested,  he  brought 
the  puppy  with  him  to  our  stopping  place,  fondled  it, 
nursed  it,  and  cared  for  it  tenderly,  leaped  over  walls 
and  rafters  with  the  poor  little  creature,  which  seemed 
to  have  no  taste  for  such  exercises,  left  it  in  perilous 
places,  and  gave  it  privileges  which  might  have  been 
appreciated  by  young  monkeys  but  were  not  agreeable 
to  a  dog.     He  was  very  fond  of  the  little  thing,  but 
that  did  not  hinder  his  eating  all  the  food  we  brought  it, 
actually  holding  it  back  while  he  robbed  his  innocent 
ward.     I  took  the  puppy  away  from  him  and  sent  it 
back  to  its  mother  that  same  evening.''     Another  bab- 
oon that  Brehm  had  behaved  in  the  same  way.     "  Atile 
loved  pets  of  all  kinds.     Hassan,  a  long-tailed  monkey, 
was  the  darling  of  her  heart,  so  long  as  there  was  no 
question  of  eating.     It  seemed  perfectly  natural  to  her 
and  no  cause  for  gratitude  that  Hassan  should  share 
everything  with  her.     She  required  slavish  obedience 
of  him,  struck  him  on  the  mouth  and  emptied  his  plate 
without  hesitation  if  he  dared  to  think  of  enjoying  any- 
thing alone.     Her  large  heart  was  not  satisfied  with  one 
pet,  her  love  was  all-embracing.     She  stole  puppies  and 
kittens  whenever  opportunity  offered,  and  kept  them 
for  a  long  time.     And  she  knew  well  how  to  render 
them  harmless,  for  if  they  scratched  her  she  would 
bite  off  their  sharp  claws." 


176  THE   PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

"  An  interesting  quality  of  onr  tame  monkey,"  says 
Pechuel-Loesche,  "  is  the  way  he  has  of  choosing  a 
particular  animal,  or  even  an  inanimate  thing,  as  the 
special  object  of  his  care.  Strange  friendships  result 
from  it.  It  is  a  familiar  fact  that  apes  often  adopt 
the  children  of  others  of  their  own  kind,  care  for  them 
tenderly,  and  protect  them  to  the  last  extremity.  When 
our  shepherd  dog  '  Trine '  came  home  with  her  little 
ones,  tormented  by  fleas,  we  placed  them  in  the  mon- 
key house,  Avhere  they  were  joyfully  received  and 
thoroughly  cleansed,  while  the  old  dog  looked  on  con- 
tentedly from  outside.  But  a  great  commotion  was 
raised  when  we  attempted  to  take  away  the  new  pets, 
the  monkeys  evidently  expecting  to  keep  them.  The 
good-natured  ape  Mohr  formed  a  triple  alliance  with 
the  gorilla  and  the  ram  Mfuka.  Jack,  the  baboon, 
had  a  little  pig  for  his  friend,  and  often  attempted  to 
ride  on  its  back.  Later,  in  place  of  the  cheerful  pig, 
he  had  a  half-grown  dog  for  his  chum,  and  they  played 
together  in  the  drollest  manner.  The  morose  Isabella 
chose  a  gray  parrot  for  her  pet,  but  the  friendship  was 
broken  from  the  day  she  tried  to  pull  out  the  parrot's 
beautiful  tail  feathers." 

We  will  conclude  with  some  examples  from  birds. 
"  A  friend  of  mine,"  says  AVood,  "  has  a  gray  parrot 
that  is  the  tenderest  and  most  devoted  of  foster  mothers 
to  any  helpless  little  creatures.  In  the  garden  were  a 
number  of  rosebushes  surrounded  by  a  wire  fence  thick- 
ly covered  with  vines.  A  pair  of  finches  nested  here, 
and  were  fed  regularly  by  the  people  in  the  house,  who 
were  kindly  disposed  to  all  animals.  Polly  noticed 
these  frequent  visits  to  the  rose  garden,  and  the  food 
scattered  there,  and  determined  to  follow  so  good  an 
example.     Watching  his  chance,  he  escaped  from  the 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  177 

cage,  imitated  the  call  of  the  old  finches,  and  carried 
to  one  after  another  of  the  young  birds  a  bill  full  of 
his  own  food.  But  his  manner  was  a  little  too  brusque 
to  suit  the  old  birds,  and  they  flew  away  in  terror  from 
the  great  gray  stranger.  Polly  thus  saw  to  his  satisfac- 
tion the  little  ones  orphaned  and  left  entirely  to  his  pro- 
tecting care.  From  that  time  he  refused  to  return  to 
his  cage,  staying  night  and  day  with  the  foster  children, 
and  feeding  them  carefully  till  they  were  grown  up. 
The  little  creatures  would  fly  about  and  perch  on  his 
head  and  neck,  and  Polly  would  move  very  carefully  and 
seriously  with  his  burden.''  The  naturalist  Pietruvsky 
had  a  pond  raven  that  always  insisted  on  having  com- 
pany after  a  magpie  was  once  accidentally  placed  in  his 
cage.  This  companionship  must  have  given  him  pleas- 
ure, for  the  next  winter  he  chased  any  of  the  birds  that 
came  near  when  he  was  out  of  his  cage.  Tiring  of  the 
sport,  he  would  catch  a  magpie  and  hold  it  in  his  claws, 
calling  out  until  his  attendant  appeared,  to  put  it  in  the 
cage.  If  the  man  dared  to  free  the  bird,  the  raven 
would  keep  on  chasing  magpies  until  he  had  his  way; 
that  accomplished,  he  would  go  into  the  cage  of  his  own 
accord  and  there  torment  his  beloved  magpie,  very 
much  as  monkeys  tease  their  pets."  * 

Some  birds  that  are  reared  with  the  first  brood 
assist  their  parents  in  bringing  up  the  second.  ''  A 
family  of  swallows  did  this.  Toussenel  saw  the  first 
brood  when  they  had  hardly  outgrown  the  nest  them- 
selves, lend  a  helping  hand  in  feeding  their  little  broth- 
ers and  sisters."  f 

Altum  assures  us  that  the  second  brood  of  canary 


*  Biichner,  Liebe  und  Liebesleben  in  der  Thieifwelt,  p.  259. 
t  Ibid.,  p.  124. 


178  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

birds  is  often  fed  by  the  first,  and  he  has  seen  young 
kildees  still  in  their  first  feathers  bringing  food  to 
young  cuckoos.* 

If  we  now  glance  backward  over  the  examples  cited, 
it  will  be  seen  that  the  majority  of  them  refer  to  ab- 
normal conditions,  like  those  in  which  the  weaver  bird 
displayed  its  skill.  Most  of  the  animals  concerned  had 
lost  their  own  young  and  were  trying  to  find  an  outlet 
for  the  fostering  instincts  already  cited,  and  so  a  kind 
of  make-believe  was  substituted  for  the  natural  expres- 
sion of  it,  hence  the  origin  of  play.  This  is  not  quite 
the  case  when  the  animal  adds  strangers  to  its  flour- 
ishing family,  but  it  may  be  questioned  even  then 
whether  the  strange  habit  did  not  originate  on  some 
occasion  when  the  animal  could  not  exert  its  normal 
function.  Yet  I  suppose  those  who  regard  the  petting 
of  dogs  by  lonely  women  as  play  may  call  this  so  too. 

Play  characteristics  are,  however,  unmistakably  pres- 
ent when  experimentation  and  the  desire  for  ownership 
are  combined  with  the  fostering  instinct,  and  also  when 
half-grown  birds  assist  in  caring  for  the  younger  ones. 
This  latter  seems  to  me  the  veritable  play  of  young 
creatures,  in  which,  however,  imitation  is  perhaps  as 
much  involved  as  the  nurturing  instinct.  It  is  certain- 
ly so  in  human  play  of  this  kind.f 

7.  Imitative  Play. 

I  have  already  stated,  in  the  previous  chapter,  that 
I  subscribe  to  the  views  of  those  who,  like  Scheitlin, 
Schneider,  Strieker,  Wundt,  and  James,  regard  the  imi- 

*  B.  Altum,  Der  Vogel  und  sein  Leben,  p.  188. 
f  Perhaps  the  habit  of  many  male  birds  of  feeding:  their  be- 
trothed should  also  be  reckoned  among  the  indubitable  plays. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  179 

tative  impulse  as  instinctive,  and  now  I  must  return  to 
this  vexed  question.  In  order  to  get  a  clear  view  of 
the  opposite  theory,  according  to  which  imitation  is 
of  individual  (not  hereditary)  origin,  it  is  best  to  refer 
at  once  to  the  work  which  more  than  any  other  has  in- 
fluenced modern  association  psychology — James  Mill's 
Analysis  of  the  Phenomena  of  the  Human  Mind.  So 
far  as  I  can  see  there  is  nothing  essential  in  later  eluci- 
dations that  is  not  contained  in  Chapter  XXIV  of  this 
book.  Mill  proceeds  from  the  assumption  that  the 
idea  of  a  movement  produces  the  impulse  to  perform 
the  movement  itself.  The  motion  of  swallowing  fur- 
nishes a  good  example,  for  "  if  a  friend  assures  you 
that  you  can  not  refrain  for  the  space  of  a  minute  from 
this  act,  and  you  are  tempted  to  try,  you  are  almost 
sure  to  fail."  Why  is  this  true?  Because  directing 
the  attention  to  the  act  of  swallowing  so  strongly  sug- 
gests the  muscular  feeling  attending  the  act,  that  swal- 
lowing itself  follows  of  its  own  accord.  The  same 
result  follows  when  an  idea  of  motion  is  suggested  by 
the  sight  of  it  performed  by  another.  For  instance, 
there  are  certain  feelings  which  we  hardly  notice  ac- 
companying gaping,  and  when  we  see  another  person 
gaping,  we  usually  gape  too;  the  act  is  so  firmly  asso- 
ciated with  the  accompanying  feeling  that  the  sight 
of  the  action  arouses  the  feeling,  which  in  turn  calls 
for  the  act  in  ourselves.  This  explanation  is  expected 
to  cover  all  phenomena  included  in  the  general  name 
of  imitation.  It  will  be  seen  that  the  awakening  of 
imitative  impulse  is  here  dependent  on  antecedent  asso- 
ciation. But  for  this  it  is  necessary,  as  a  rule,  that  the 
act  in  question  shall  have  been  repeated  frequently, 
and  thus,  according  to  this  theory,  we  would  imitate 
only  such  motions  as  are  already  familiar.     Were  the 


180  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

associative  connection  between  the  "  antecedent  state 
of  feeling  "  and  the  act  itself  firmly  established  by  fre- 
quent repetition,  the  force  of  imitation  would  not  be 
operative. 

Against  this  definition  the  just  and  obvious  objec- 
tion is  that  imitation  preferably  selects  what  is  new 
and  unusual  for  its  model,  as  the  phenomena  of  fashion 
illustrate  daily.  When  we  see  two  people  greet  one 
another  in  the  manner  that  we  are  accustomed  to,  we 
are  not  impelled  to  imitate  them,  though  the  associa- 
tive connection  is  perfect.  But  if  a  leader  of  fashion 
displays  a  new  way  of  lifting  his  hat,  there  are  hundreds 
who  can  not  resist  the  temptation  to  hold  their  hats,  too, 
like  warming  pans,  before  them,  or  doing  whatever  the 
new  mode  demands.  Further,  this  theory  would  make 
imitation  a  much  stronger  impulse  in  adults,  whose 
associations  are  established,  than  in  children,  while  the 
contrary  is  the  fact.  Nor  does  it  explain  any  better 
the  powerful  influence  of  imitation  in  teaching  the 
child  new  and  unpractised  movements  of  the  limbs  and 
vocal  organs.  Thus,  when  James  Mill  says — "  All  men 
have  a  greater  or  less  propensity  for  imitation.  This 
propensit}^  is  very  strong  in  most  children,  and  to  it  is 
due  in  large  measure  the  rapidity  with  which  they  ac- 
quire many  things,  for  example,  the  propensity  to  imi- 
tate sounds  helps  them  to  learn  to  talk  quickly.  .  .  . 
Children  learn  to  stammer  and  to  squint  by  imitating 
their  companions,  and  we  all  know  how  common  it  is  for 
young  people  to  adopt  the  manners  and  expression  of 
those  with  whom  they  associate  " — he  seems  to  me  to 
prove  by  his  own  illustration  that  the  exercise  of  imi- 
tative impulse  does  not  use  tracts  learned  by  association, 
but  rather  inborn  ones;  in  other  words,  that  it  is  not 
acquired  but  inherited ;  it  is  an  instinct.     This  is  Her- 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  Igl 

bert  Spencer's  view  as  it  is  set  forth  in  the  chapter 
on  "  Sociality  and  Sympathy ''  of  his  Principles  of  Psy- 
chology.    He  begins,  it  is  true,  with  a  purely  associative 
principle  in  seeking  to  show  how  all  the  members  of  a 
herd  of  cattle  often  take  to  flight  simultaneously,  and 
how  through  the  frequent  repetition  of  this  a  strong 
association  is  gradually  established  between  the  signs  of 
fright  in  another  and  the  consciousness  of  fear,  so  that 
•finally  when  only  one  animal  perceives  the  danger,  his 
fright  is  communicated  to  all  the  others.     From  this  he 
goes  on:   "Evidently  the  process  thus  imitated  must, 
by  inheritance  of  the  effects  of  habit,  furthered  by  sur- 
vival of  the  fittest,  render  organic  a  quick  and  com- 
plete sympathy  of  this  simple  kind.     Eventually  a  mere 
hearing  of  the  sound  of  alarm  peculiar  to  the  species 
will  by  itself  arouse  the  emotion  of  alarm.     For  the 
meaning  of  this  sound  becomes  knowTi,  not  only  in  the 
way  pointed  out,  but  in  another  way.     Each  is  con- 
scious of  the  sound  made  by  itself  when  in  fear,  and  the 
hearing  of  a  like  sound,  tending  to  recall  the  sound  made 
by   itself,   tends  to   arouse  the   accompanying   feeling. 
Hence  the  panics  so  conspicuous  among  gregarious  crea- 
tures.    Motions  alone  often  suffice.     A  fiock  of  birds, 
toward  which  a  man  approaches,  will  quietly  watch  for 
a  while,  but  when  one  files,  those  near  it,  excited  by  its 
movement  of  escape,  fiy  also,  and  in  a  moment  the  rest 
are  in  the  air.     The  same  happens  with  sheep.     Long 
they  stand  stupidly  gazing,  but  when  one  runs  all  run"! 
and  so  strong  is  the  sympathetic  tendency  among  them' 
that  they  will  usually  go  through  the  same  movement  at 
the  same  spot,  leaping  when  there  is  nothing  to  leap 
over."  * 


*  Herbert  Spencer,  The  Principles  of  Psycholorry.  p.  505.    Aiidii- 
bon's  description  of  the  flight  of  passenger  pigeons  forms  a  paraUel 


182  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

I  agree  with  Spencer  in  considering  the  imitative 
impulse  hereditary,  but  must  demur  from  his  assump- 
tion of  the  inheritance  of  acquired  characters,  and 
take  instead  the  principle  of  survival  of  the  fittest,  or 
selection,  as  the  proper  ground  for  a  definition.  In 
order  to  establish  this  connection,  however,  it  must  first 
be  proved  that  imitation  is  useful,  as  I  tried  to  do  when 
I  took  the  ground  that  it  is  an  instinct  which  works  di- 
rectly toward  the  development  of  intelligence,  since  its 
tendency  is  to  render  many  other  instincts  to  a  certain 
degree  superfluous,  and  so  encourage  independence  in 
the  individual.  This  view  is  borne  out  by  the  fact 
that  imitation  is  strongest  in  the  more  intelligent  ani- 
mals, such  as  highly  developed  birds  and  monkeys, 
and  that  man  may  be  called  the  imitative  animal  par 
excellence. 

Before  I  proceed  to  give  instances  of  imitative  play, 
it  is  necessary  to  point  out  briefly  that  this  instinct 
is  not  by  any  means  peculiar  to  gregarious  animals,  as 
seems  to  be  the  common  impression.  It  is  more  or 
less  operative  in  all  the  higher  animals,  especially  Avhile 
they  are  young.  The  family  as  Avell  as  the  herd  offers 
opportunity  for  its  exercise,  and  we  flnd  examples  of 

to  this  observation  of  sheep :  "  It  is  impossible  to  describe  the 
beauty  of  their  aerial  flight  when  a  falcon  attempts  to  snatch  one 
from  the  flock.  Startled,  they  fall  back  in  a  close  mass,  and  then 
flow  out  like  a  living-  stream,  pushing  on  with  waving  motion  and 
in  sharp  angles,  fall  abruptly  to  the  ground,  and  then  mount 
straight  upward  in  a  column  toward  the  sky,  where  they  form 
a  coiling  line  like  a  huge  serpent.  ...  It  is  remarkable  how  one 
flock  after  another  will  follow  the  same  path.  If,  for  instance,  a 
bird  of  prey  has  disturbed  one  flock  at  a  certain  place,  and  they 
in  consequence  describe  such  angles,  curves,  and  wavy  lines,  the 
next  flock  will  do  the  same  when  ir  comes  to  that  spot,  as  if  it, 
too,  had  to  escape  from  the  fearful  grasp  of  its  enemy." 


THE  PLAY  OF  AXIMALS.  1S3 

it  among  many  animals  that  do  not  live  in  companies, 
as  the  instances  which  follow  will  show. 

But  when,  it  will  be  asked,  can  imitation  be  called 
play?  Eemembering  our  definition  of  play  as  instinc- 
tive activity  exerted  for  purposes  of  practice  or  exercise, 
and  without  serious  intent,  it  is  easy  to  discriminate 
between  imitation  that  is  playful  and  imitation  that  is 
earnest.  When  a  crow  flies  away  with  a  warning  cry, 
and  the  whole  flock  follows  him,  play  has  nothing  to 
do  with  it.  And  the  same  is  true  of  the  beautiful  in- 
stance given  in  Nature,  September  12,  1889:  ''Two 
cats  were  on  a  roof,  from  which  it  was  necessary  to 
jump.  Tom  made  the  spring,  but  Tabby's  courage 
failed  and  she  drew  back  with  a  cry  of  distress,  where- 
upon Tom  leaped  back,  and,  giving  a  cheerful  mew  as 
much  as  to  say,  '  See  how  easy  it  is,'  jumped  across 
again,  followed  this  time  by  Tabby."  But  imitation 
appears  in  the  character  of  play  when  young  animals 
imitate  the  movements  of  their  parents  or  other  ani- 
mals with  no  apparent  aim  but  practice,  when  parrots 
reproduce  every  possible  noise  and  tone,  when  monkeys 
copy  their  masters,  and  when  animals  have  large  gath- 
erings for  the  purpose  of  competing  with  one  another. 
Sully  holds  *  that  the  imitative  impulse  is  brought  out 
only  by  such  movements  as  are  connected  with  "  pleasur- 
able interest " ;  but  where  movements  of  flight  from  ap- 
proaching danger  are  concerned  this  can  not  invariably 
be  true.  Playful  imitation,  however,  must  always  be 
connected  with  "  pleasurable  interest,"  and  indeed  it 
seems  probable  that  such  feelings  of  pleasure  rest  on  the 
basis  common  to  all  play,  which  a  searching  examina- 
tion will  discover  to  be  experimentation  in  this  case,  as 

*  The  Human  Mind,  ii,  p.  219. 
14 


184:  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

well  as  in  the  others  that  we  have  considered.  The  de- 
light in  being  able  to  say  "  I  can,"  which  we  found  in 
simple  experimentation,  becomes  the  joy  of  "  I  can  too  " 
in  playful  imitation,  and  under  faA^ourable  conditions 
goes  on  to  the  pleasure  of  "  I  can  do  better  "  in  rivalry. 

Since  playful  imitation  is  often  stigmatized  as  mim- 
icry (N'achaffen),  it  seems  peculiarly  appropriate  to  be- 
gin with  an  example  from  the  monkeys  (Affen).  The 
ancients  were  familiar  with  the  imitativeness  of  mon- 
keys, as  their  designations  of  them  prove — the  Greek 
fjAfiw  being  one  who  imitates,  and  the  Latin  simius 
sounding  much  like  similis. 

The  Egyptian  word  for  monkey,  though  signifying 
rather  the  baboon  in  particular — an,  anin,  anan — like- 
wise signifies  imitator.*  During  the  later  Greek  and 
Eoman  Empires  monkeys  were  favourite  pets  because 
of  their  drollery.  Their  natural  propensity  was  culti- 
vated by  teaching  them  all  sorts  of  tricks,  such  as  dan- 
cing, riding,  driving  a  coach,  playing  the  flute  and  the 
lyre,  ^lian  relates  that  monkeys  had  been  known  to 
scald  little  children  in  mistaken  imitation  of  the  nurse. 
According  to  Philostratus,  who,  it  must  be  admitted, 
is  not  always  trustworthy,  the  Indians  employed  mon- 
keys in  harvesting  pepper.  "  They  collected  a  small 
quantity  of  the  fruit  in  a  place  prepared  for  it  under 
a  tree  or  at  the  foot  of  a  hill,  and  then  tossed  it  away 
as  if  worthless.  The  monkeys  who  attentively  watched 
this  proceeding  came  back  at  nightfall  and,  obeying 
their  imitative  impulse,  made  collections  as  the  men 
had  and  left  them.  Next  morning  the  Indians  came 
and  carried  away  the  pepper  thus  harvested  for  them."  f 


*  0.  Keller,  Thiere  des  classischen  Alterthums,  1887,  pp.  5,  ?,23. 
t  Ibid.,  p.  4. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  185 

The  probability  of  this  story  is  indeed  not  enhanced 
when  we  learn  that  the  method  of  catching  the  monkeys 
familiar  to  readers  of  Speckter's  story  book,  namely, 
that  of  drawing  on  boots  in  their  presence  and  then 
leaving  the  boots  as  a  trap,  was  known  to  the  ancients; 
but  all  such  tales  go  to  prove  how  impressive  the  mon- 
key's imitativeness  is.  Modern  accounts,  too,  are  chiefly 
taken  up  with  mimicry  of  human  actions.  Fr.  Ellen- 
dorf  relates  a  good  example  of  curiosity,  imitation,  and 
experimentation  combined  in  the  person  of  a  little 
black  ape  with  a  white  head  that  he  brought  from  Costa 
Eica.  "  On  the  first  day  that  I  let  him  run  about  in 
the  sitting  room,  he  sat  before  me  on  the  table  and 
eagerly  examined  everything  there.  Pretty  soon  he 
came  upon  a  little  matchbox  and  soon  had  it  open  and 
the  contents  scattered  about  on  the  table.  I  took  a 
match,  rubbed  it  on  the  box  cover  and  held  it  near 
him.  Full  of  astonishment,  he  rolled  his  little  eyes 
and  gazed  at  the  clear  flame.  I  struck  a  second  and  a 
third  and  held  them  out  to  him.  At  last  he  stretched 
out  his  paw,  hesitatingly  took  the  match,  held  it  be- 
fore his  face,  and  watched  the  flame  admiringly. 
Suddenly  it  touched  his  finger  and  he  instantly  threw 
the  match  away.  I  closed  the  box  and  placed  it  before 
me.  From  his  hasty  manner  I  thought  he  would  open 
it  at  once,  but  he  did  not.  He  went  near  it,  looked 
and  smelt  all  about  it  without  taking  hold  of  it,  then 
he  came  to  me,  making  a  low  pleading  sound  and  cling- 
ing to  me,  as  if  he  were  full  of  wonder  and  wanted  to 
ask  what  this  could  be.  Then  he  returned  to  the  box, 
handled  it  all  over  and  tried  to  open  it,  but  could  not 
do  it  alone,  and  came  back  to  me  with  the  same  plead- 
ing tone.  I  struck  another  match  on  the  cover  and 
s:ave  it  to  him  when  it  was  burned  out.     Then  he  took 


186  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

one  and  rubbed  it  on  the  cover  and  threw  it  away,  but 
soon  returned  to  it  and,  getting  hold  of  it  upside  down, 
rubbed  the  wrong  end.  I  turned  it  for  him,  and  he 
struck  it  till  it  lighted.  Now  he  was  himself  again, 
his  whole  manner  showed  the  greatest  joy  and  complai- 
sance. He  grasped  the  matches  and  struck  at  least  a 
dozen.^^  * 

H.  Leutemann  contributes  this  about  an  orang- 
outang :  "  Most  monkeys  try  to  chew  up  whatever  they 
can  get  at,  and  seem  to  take  pleasure  only  (?)  in  de- 
stroying things,  but  ours,  on  the  contrary,  evidently  tried 
to  put  to  its  proper  use  whatever  was  given  to  him.  To 
my  great  surprise,  he  attempted  to  put  on  a  pair  of 
gloves,  and,  although  he  could  not  tell  right  from  left,  it 
proved  that  he  knew  what  they  were  for.  He  supported 
himself  on  a  light  walking  cane,  and  when  it  bent  under 
him,  made  ridiculous  motions  to  right  it  again.'^  f 
Brehm  tells  of  a  chimpanzee:  "  After  eating  he  at  once 
begins  to  clean  up.  He  holds  a  stick  of  wood  in  front 
of  him  or  puts  his  hands  in  his  master's  slippers  and 
slides  about  the  room,  then  takes  a  cloth  and  scrubs 
the  floor.  Scouring,  sweeping,  and  dusting  are  his 
favourite  occupations,  and  when  he  once  gets  hold  of 
the  cloth  he  never  wants  to  give  it  up.'' 

The  gorilla  of  which  J.  Falkenstein  has  given  a 
detailed  description  was  remarkable  for  his  delicacy 
in  eating:  "He  would  take  up  a  cup  or  glass  with  the 
greatest  care,  using  both  hands  to  carry  it  to  his  mouth, 
and  set  it  down  so  carefully  that  I  do  not  recall  having 
lost  a  single  piece  of  crockery  through  him,  though 
we  had  never  tried  to  teach  him  the  use  of  such  vessels, 

*  Thiercharaktere.  No.  3,  Affen,  (iartenlaubo.  1862,  p.  87. 
f  IT.  Leutemann,   Ein   gebildeter   Orang-Utang,  Gartenlaube, 
1862. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  187 

wishing  to  bring  liim  to  Europe  as  nearly  as  possible 
in  his  natural  condition."  * 

Eomanes's  sister  has  the  following  about  the  capu- 
cine  ape  already  mentioned:  "  To-day  he  broke  his  chain 
.  .  .  and  got  to  the  trunk  where  the  nuts  are  kept,  .  .  . 
and  began  picking  at  the  lock  with  his  fingers.  I  then 
gave  him  the  key,  and  he  tried  for  two  full  hours, 
without  ceasing,  to  unlock  the  trunk.  It  was  a  very 
difficult  lock  to  open,  being  slightly  out  of  order,  and 
requires  the  lid  of  the  trunk  to  be  pressed  down  before 
it  would  work,  so  I  believe  it  was  absolutely  impossible 
for  him  to  open  it,  but  he  found  in  time  the  right  way 
to  put  the  key  in,  and  to  turn  it  backward  and  forward, 
and  after  every  attempt  he  pulled  the  lid  upward  to  see 
if  it  were  locked.  That  this  was  the  result  of  observ- 
ing people  is  obvious  from  the  fact  that  after  every 
time  he  put  the  key  into  the  lock  and  failed  to  open 
the  trunk,  he  passed  the  key  round  and  round  the  out- 
side of  the  lock  several  times.  The  explanation  of  this 
is  that  my  mother's  sight  being  bad,  she  often  misses 
the  lock  in  putting  in  the  key;  the  monkey  therefore 
evidently  seems  to  think  that  this  feeling  round  and 
round  the  lock  with  the  key  is  in  some  way  necessary 
to  success  in  unlocking  the  lock,  so  that,  although  he 
could  see  perfectly  well  how  to  put  the  key  in  straight 
himself,  he  went  through  this  useless  operation  first."  f 

Similar  observations  were  made  with  two  dogs, 
though  imitation  is  nowhere  so  strong  as  with  mon- 
keys. Scheitlin  describes  his  poodle's  efforts  at  mim- 
icry, which  are  in  keeping  with  his  remarkable  intelli- 
gence.    "  He  watches  his  master  constantly,  always  no- 

*  Loan^o  Expedition,  ii.  p.  152. 

f  Komanes,  Animal  Intelligence,  p.  492. 


188  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

ticing  what  he  does;  always  ready  to  serve  him,  he  is  the 
right  kind  of  eye-servant.  If  his  master  takes  up  a 
ninepin  ball,  he  seizes  one  between  his  paws,  gnaws  at 
it,  and  is  evidently  annoyed  that  he  can  not  take  it  up 
too.  When  his  master  looks  for  geological  specimens, 
he  hunts  stones  too,  and  digs  with  his  paws  when  he 
sees  digging  going  on.  The  master  sits  at  a  window 
admiring  the  view,  the  dog  springs  up  on  the  bench 
near  by,  lays  his  paws  on  the  window  sill,  and  gazes, 
though  not  absorbedly,  at  the  beauties  of  the  scene. 
He  always  wants  to  carry  a  stick  or  basket  when  he 
sees  his  master  or  the  cook  carry  one."  * 

There  is  probably  something  of  playful  imitation, 
too,  in  the  howling  of  dogs  when  they  hear  music,  for 
the  dog  which,  for  instance,  accompanies  the  piano  with 
mournful  wails  is  often  not  compelled  to  listen  to  the 
music,  but  comes  into  the  room  voluntarily.  I  have 
said  that  I  am  doubtful  whether  the  howling  of  dogs  is 
always  a  sign  of  distress,  and  I  am  almost  sure  that  it 
frequently  is  not  when  they  howl  to  music;  on  the  con- 
trary, they  seem  to  take  pleasure  in  it.  Moreover,  there 
are  cases  on  record  where  a  rude  attempt  to  imitate  the 
music  is  apparent,  though  it  is  very  easy  to  be  mistaken 
about  that.  A  friend  of  mine  had,  when  he  was  a  stu- 
dent, a  female  poodle  named  Eolla,  with  which  he  often 
gave  performances  for  the  entertainment  of  his  friends. 
When  he  sang  in  a  high  falsetto  voice  the  dog  accom- 
panied him  with  howls  that  unmistakably  adapted  them- 
selves to  the  pitch  of  the  notes.     AVhile  there  was,  of 

■^  Scheitlin.  Thierseelenkunde,  ii,  p.  257.  It  will  be  noticed  that 
not  everything  mentioned  in  this  instance  can  be  attributed  to 
imitation.  Opening  doors  is  another  instance  of  the  same  kind  ; 
there  may  be  something  imitative  about  it.  but  it  is  principally  the 
result  of  effort  to  get  out  or  in  by  scratching  or  pushing. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  189 

course,  no  such  thing  as  following  the  tune,  the  impres- 
sion was  made  on  the  hearer  that  the  dog  tried  to  sing 
with  it,  and  was  very  proud  of  her  skill.  I  should  hesi- 
tate to  relate  this  if  others  had  not  advanced  the  same 
belief.  Scheitlin  thinks  that  music  may  be  painful 
to  the  dog,  but  goes  on:  "  It  may  be  questioned  whether 
he  does  not,  in  his  way,  accompany  it.''  *  Eomanes 
says  the  same  thing:  "  With  the  exception  of  the  sing- 
ing ape  (Hylohates  agilis)  there  is  no  evidence  of  any 
mammal  other  than  man  having  any  delicate  percep- 
tion of  pitch.  I  have,  however,  heard  a  terrier,  which 
used  to  accompany  a  song  by  howling,  follow  the  pro- 
longed notes  of  the  human  voice  with  some  approxi- 
mation to  unison;  and  Dr.  Huggins,  who  has  a  good 
ear,  tells  me  that  his  large  mastiff,  Kepler,  used  to  do 
the  same  to  prolonged  notes  sounded  from  an  organ.''  f 
Still  more  positive  are  some  of  the  examples  given 
by  Alix;  they  really  seem  to  border  on  the  marvellous. 
^'  Pere  Pardies  cites  the  case  of  two  dogs  that  had  been 
taught  to  sing,  one  of  them  taking  a  part  with  his  master. 
Pierquin  de  Gembloux  also  speaks  of  a  poodle  that 
could  run  the  scale  in  tune  and  sing  very  agreeably  a 
fine  composition  of  Mozart's  (My  Heart  it  sighs  at  Eve, 
etc.).  It  was  called  Capucin,  and  belonged  to  Habe- 
neck,  a  theatrical  director.  All  the  scientists  in  Paris, 
according  to  the  same  authority,  went  to  see  the  dog  be- 
longing to  Dr.  Bennati,  and  hear  it  sing  the  scale,  which 
it  could  do  perfectly.  I  myself  know  a  poodle  that  ac- 
companies his  mistress  very  well  when  she  plays  the 
scale  on  the  piano."  J  Alix  cites  Leibnitz,  too,  who  had 
seen  a  dog  with  such  a  capacity  for  imitation  that  he 


*  Thierseelenkunde,  ii,  p.  254. 

+  Romanes,  Mental  Evolution  in  Animals,  p.  93. 

X  L'esprit  de  nos  betes,  p.  3G4. 


190  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

could  pronounce  more  than  thirty  words,  making  suit- 
able answers  to  his  master,  and  articulate  clearly  all  the 
letters  of  the  alphabet  except  M,  'N,  and  H. 

The  examples  cited  so  far  do  not  show  us  imitation 
in  its  real  meaning;  they  are  all  the  result  of  accidental 
offshoots  from  this  powerful  instinct,  for  the  actual 
biological  significance  of  imitative  play  is  not  expressed 
in  movements  or  sounds  that  are  unconnected  with  the 
struggle  for  life,  but  rather,  to  put  it  briefly,  in  playful 
self-discipline  of  young  animals  in  the  life  habits  of 
their  kind.  It  is  sometimes  very  difficult  to  place  the 
boundary  between  what  is  instinctive  or  hereditary  and 
what  is  acquired  by  imitation.  Still,  it  can  hardly  be 
questioned,  after  all  that  has  been  said,  that  imitative 
plays  are  an  important  adjunct  to  heredity  during  the 
youth  of  higher  animals.  The  qualities  of  animals 
brought  up  by  foster  parents  furnish  a  strong  experi- 
mental proof  of  this.  However  the  adopted  animal  may 
be  limited  in  his  development  by  inherited  instinct, 
imitative  impulse  is  still  strong  enough  to  bring  about 
some  startling  modifications.  I  have  not  been  able  to 
collect  many  examples  illustrative  of  this  in  mammals, 
the  class  to  which  I  have  hitherto  confined  myself. 

Darwin  tells  us  that  "  two  species  of  wolves,  which 
had  been  reared  by  dogs,  learned  to  bark,  as  does  some- 
times the  jackal,"  *  and  it  seems  quite  certain  that  dogs 
brought  up  by  cats  learn  many  things  from  their  fos- 
ter parents.  "  From  one  account  which  I  have  read 
there  is  reason  to  believe  that  puppies  nursed  by  cats 
sometimes  learn  to  lick  their  feet,  and  thus  to  clean 
their  faces;  it  is  at  least  certain,  as  I  hear  from 
a  perfectly  trustworthy  friend,  that  some  dogs  behave  in 

*  Descent  of  Man,  p.  43. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  191 

this  manner."  *  Many  such  cases  could  be  cited;  in- 
deed, Romanes  found  among  Darwin^s  papers  a  manu- 
script of  the  late  Professor  Hoffmann,  of  Giessen,  con- 
taining one.f  But  it  is  also  a  fact  that  dogs  which 
have  not  been  brought  up  with  cats  often  have  the 
habit  of  licking  their  paws  and  rubbing  them  over  the 
face  and  ears,  but  no  doubt  the  motions  of  the  dogs  in 
the  other  cases  were  noticeably  like  those  of  a  cat.  Imi- 
tation was  more  clearly  displayed,  however,  by  a  King 
Charles  spaniel  mentioned  in  Miss  Mitford's  Life  and 
Letters.  This  dog  was  suckled  by  a  cat  in  its  infancy 
at  the  home  of  Dr.  Routh.  He  grew  up  with  the  hor- 
ror of  rain  so  characteristic  of  cats,  and  would  not  put 
his  paw  in  a  wet  place;  he  would  watch  a  mouse  hole, 
too,  for  hours.  J:  A  certain  Mr.  Jeens  also  had  a  dog 
nursed  by  a  cat,  and  it  played  with  a  mouse  just  as  a  cat 
does.* 

Leaving  such  abnormal  cases,  I  now  pass  on  to  con- 
sider the  natural  workings  of  this  instinct.  Every  time 
a  young  animal  imitates  the  movements  of  its  elders 
without  any  aim  beyond  the  unconscious  one  of  practice, 
playful  activity  is  indulged  in.  For  example,  I  will 
relate  what  I  have  seen  young  polar  bears  do.  There 
is  a  large  flat  stone  in  the  bear  pit,  and  the  mother  is 
constantly  shoving  it  backward  and  forward.  On  one 
occasion  it  lay  directly  in  her  way,  and  she  stepped  over 
it,  and  the  little  one  that  was  behind  her,  though  he 
seldom  cared  to  follow  his  mother  about,  tried  to  clam- 
ber over  it  too,  and  accomplished  it  with  some  difficulty. 
Brehm  says  that  the  only  way  he  could  get  the  young 

*  Descent  of  Man,  p.  4'j. 

f  Rom.'^n'^s.  Mental  Evolution  in  Animals. 

X  Nature,  May,  1873. 

«  Ibid. 


192  THE  PLAY  OF  AXIMALS. 

bears  of  the  Hamburg  gardens  inside  the  inelosure  of 
the  bath  was  to  run  in  himself,  Avhereupon  they  all 
followed  at  once,  otherwise  their  interest  was  absorbed 
by  all  sorts  of  things  on  the  way.*  This  impulse  to  imi- 
tate motion  may  appear  before  the  animal  is  able  to 
distinguish  between  its  mother  and  other  objects,  but 
simply  follows  anything  that  attracts  its  attention  by 
moving — a  clear  proof  that  the  impulse  is  hereditary. 
Hudson  relates  of  young  lambs  that  probably  develop 
more  slowly  on  account  of  domestication:  "Its  next 
important  instinct  (after  sucking)  which  comes  into 
play  from  the  moment  it  can  stand  on  its  feet,  impels 
it  to  follow  after  any  object  receding  from  it,  and,  on 
the  other  hand,  to  run  from  anything  approaching 
it.  If  the  dam  turns  round  and  approaches  it,  even 
from  a  very  short  distance,  it  will  start  back  and  run 
from  her  in  fear,  and  will  not  understand  her  voice 
when  she  bleats  to  it.  At  the  same  time  it  will  con- 
fidently follow  after  a  man,  horse,  dog,  or  any  other  ani- 
mal moving  from  it.  ...  I  have  seen  a  lamb  about 
two  days  old  start  up  from  sleep  and  immediately  start 
off  in  pursuit  of  a  puffball  about  as  big  as  a  man's 
head,  carried  past  it  over  the  smooth  turf  by  the  wind, 
and  chase  it  for  a  distance  of  five  hundred  yards,  until 
the  dry  ball  was  brought  to  a  stop  by  a  tuft  of  coarse 
grass.  This  blundering  instinct  is  quickly  laid  aside 
when  the  lamb  has  learned  to  distinguish  its  dam  from 
other  objects,  and  its  dam's  voice  from  other  sounds."  f 
AYe  often  see  among  dogs  how,  when  one  goes  over  a 
ditch,  his  companions  folloAv,  and  how  the  bark  of  one 
excites  the  rest  at  once.     Wesley  Mills  emphasizes  the 

*  Bilder  aus  dem  Thiergarten  in  Hamburg,  2.  Unsere  Earen, 
Gartenlaube,  1884,  p.  12. 

f  Hudson,  The  Naturalist  in  F^a  Plata,  p.  107. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  193 

extraordinary  importance  of  imitation  in  development. 
He  mentions  the  case  of  a  mongrel  dog  that  was  placed 
with  some  St.  Bernards  when  only  twenty  days  old,  and 
says:  "  One  of  the  features  of  development  greatly  im- 
pressed on  my  mind  .  .  .  was  the  influence  of  one  on 
another  in  all  the  lines  of  development.  This  was  shown 
both  negatively  and  positively  in  the  case  of  the  mon- 
grel. After  he  began  to  mingle  with  the  older  dogs 
his  progress  was  marvellous.  He  seemed  in  a  few 
days  to  overtake  himself,  so  to  speak,  and  his  advance- 
ment was  literally  by  leaps  and  bounds.'^  *  The  pro- 
pensity of  young  bears  to  imitate  their  elders  is  often 
taken  advantage  of  by  tamers.  Brehm  gives  an  interest- 
ing description  by  K.  Miiller  of  the  education  of  young 
stone  martens:  "  The  mother  is  most  attentive  to  the 
exercising  of  her  young,  as  I  have  had  occasion  to  no- 
tice several  times.  In  the  park  a  wall  five  metres  high 
is  connected  with  the  shed  where  a  pair  of  martens 
with  four  young  ones  are  housed.  At  daybreak  the 
mother  crept  out  cautiously,  stealing  like  a  cat  some 
distance  along  the  wall  and  crouched  there,  quietly 
waiting.  There  the  father  joined  her,  but  it  was  some 
moments  before  the  young  ones  came  out.  When  they 
were  all  together  the  parents  rose  and  in  five  or  six 
bounds  covered  a  considerable  stretch  of  the  wall  and 
vanished,  and  I  heard,  though  it  was  scarcely  audible, 
the  sound  of  a  spring  into  the  garden.  The  little  ones 
followed  with  hurried  leaps  and  climbed  up  on  the 
wall  with  the  aid  of  a  poplar  tree  growing  near.  Hard- 
ly had  they  reached  their  parents  when  the  latter  sprang 
away  again,  this  time  to  a  lilac  bush,  and  now  the  young 
ones  followed  them  without  hesitation.     It  was  aston- 


*  Loc.  cit.,  part  ill,  p.  219. 


194:  THE  PLAY   OF  ANIMALS. 

ishing  how  by  a  hasty  glance  they  could  detect  the  best 
route.  And  now  began  the  running  and  leaping  with 
such  zeal  and  at  such  a  breakneck  speed  that  the  play 
of  cats  and  foxes  seemed  mere  child's  i^lay  beside  it. 
"With  every  moment  the  pupils  grew  more  agile,  rushing 
up  and  down  trees,  over  roofs  and  walls  with  a  rapidity 
that  proved  how  necessary  it  was  for  the  birds  of  the 
garden  to  be  on  their  guard.^' 

Turning  now  to  birds,  I  begin  where  we  left  the 
four-footed  animals,  for  among  the  former  imitation  of 
parents  is  much  more  the  rule  than  among  mammals, 
and  especially  so  with  singing  birds.  I  should  like  to 
call  attention,  in  this  connection,  to  the  position  of 
Wallace,  who,  though  he  found  that  the  facts  did  not 
bear  him  out  in  the  attempt  to  refer  everything  to  imi- 
tation, has  still  given  us  some  valuable  reflections  on  its 
pedagogical  aspects.  There  are  cases  on  record  of  birds 
which  have  been  reared  apart  from  any  of  their  species 
and  never  learned  their  characteristic  song  perfectly, 
while  on  the  strength  of  other  observations  it  seems  just 
as  certain  that  instinct  alone  is  sufficient  to  teach  them 
not  only  sim.ple  calls,  but  genuine  song.  Eomanes's  con- 
clusion seems  to  be  the  right  one — namely,  that  song 
and  the  other  general  capacities  of  birds  are  instinctive, 
but  can  never  be  so  quickly  nor  so  perfectly  expressed 
as  when  the  parents  serve  as  models.*  That  the  value 
of  imitation  is  not  to  be  despised  is  seen  in  the  many 
cases  where  young  birds  are  brought  up  by  some  other 
kind,  whose  song  they  adopt,  showing  that  their  imi- 
tative impulse  is  stronger  than  the  hereditary  disposi- 
tion to  the  song  of  their  own  kind.     "We  are  again  in- 

*  Weinlanrl,  too,  reached  essentially  the  same  conclusion  after 
years  of  experience  (Der  zoolo^ische  Garten,  iii,  1862). 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  I95 

debted  to  Weinland's  diary  for  the  records  of  a  family 
of  canaries.  On  May  14,  1861,  the  shells  were  broken. 
One  bird  with  a  black  head  was  the  strongest  and  most 
active  of  the  brood.  On  June  2d  little  Black-head 
sang  for  the  first  time,  or  rather  he  twittered  while  his 
father  sang.  This  is  a  good  example  of  playful  imi- 
tation.* 

In  Thiiringia  chaffinches  are  bred  that  have  a 
specially  acquired  song,  no  one  knows  Avhy,  probably 
through  unconscious  selection.  If  young  ones  are 
reared  near  those  having  the  special  song,  they  catch 
the  note  in  their  play.f 

The  many  cases,  too,  where  the  female  imperfectly 
imitates  the  song  of  the  male  may  be  playful.  Then 
there  is  the  well-known  tendency  of  song  birds  to  make 
themselves  heard  when  another  is  singing,  when  a  piano 
is  being  played,  or  conversation  carried  on.  Imitation 
here  becomes  rivalry. 

But  imitation  is  not  confined  to  singing  in  young 
birds.  "  They  are  like  little  monkeys,"  says  Hermann 
Miiller;  "  example  always  excites  them.  When  one  little 
one,  whose  wings  are  feathered  or  not,  as  the  case  may 
be,  begins  to  flutter,  all  the  little  wings  are  agitated." 
This  observation  seems  to  prove  that  it  is  not  individual 
experience  alone  that  causes  a  flock  of  grown  birds  to 
take  flight  simultaneously.];  I  have  already  pointed  out 
that  young  chickens  take  twice  as  long  to  learn  to  walk 
alone  as  when  tliey  have  the  maternal  exanqjle  before 
them,  and  that  waterfowls  go  into  the  water  with  their 
young  and  swim  before  them.  Darwin  says,  in  his 
manuscript    left    unpublished:  "It    might    have    been 

*  F.  Weinland.  Fine  Vosrelfamilie,  Der  zoologische  Garten,  1861. 
f  Nanmann,  Nnturfresphichte  der  Vogel  Deutschlands,  iv,  p.  27. 
:}:  Buchncr,  Aus  dem  Geistesleben  der  Thiere,  p.  30. 


196  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

thought  that  the  manner  in  which  fowls  drink,  by  filling 
their  beaks,  lifting  np  their  heads,  and  allowing  the 
water  to  run  down  by  its  gravity,  would  have  been  spe- 
cially taught  by  instinct;  but  this  is  not  so,  for  I  was 
most  positively  assured  that  the  chickens  of  a  brood 
reared  by  themselves  generally  required  their  beaks  to  be 
pressed  into  a  trough,  but  if  there  were  older  chick- 
ens present,  who  had  learned  to  drink,  the  younger 
ones  imitated  their  movements,  and  thus  acquired  the 
art."* 

It  is  probable  that  the  imitative  impulse  comes  into 
play  in  similar  fashion  many  times  in  an  animal's  life, 
when  we  are  entirely  unable  to  prove  its  presence  or 
influence. 

The  imitation  by  birds  of  the  songs  of  other  species 
is  very  common.  It  would  be  an  endless  task  to  cite 
even  a  portion  of  such  descriptions  as  are  found,  for  ex- 
ample, in  the  works  of  Xaumann,  Beckstein,  Kuss,  the 
two  Brehms,  the  Miillers,  etc.  I  therefore  confine  my- 
self to  a  choice  among  examples  where  the  imitative 
impulse  appears  in  greatest  perfection,  where  not  only 
bird  voices  but  those  of  men,  as  well  as  sounds  like  the 
creaking  of  doors  or  a  mill  wheel,  playing  on  pipes,  and 
spoken  words  are  faithfully  copied.  It  should  be  noted 
that  this  strange  habit  is  not  peculiar  to  birds  which  lack 
a  song  of  their  own,f  such  as  parrots  and  the  crow  fam- 
ily, but  appears  in  good  singers  as  well.  The  wild 
canary,  which  has  a  great  talent  for  mimicking  other 

*  Romanes,  Mental  Evolution  in  Animals,  p.  229.  [Lloyd  Mor- 
p-an's  more  recent  experiments  (Habit  and  Instinct)  confirm  this 
but  go  to  show  that  after  the  wettins:  of  the  beak  the  young  bird 
throws  up  the  head  and  swallows  instinctively.] 

•f  As  Romanes  seems  to  think,  Mental  Evolution  in  Animals, 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  19 7 

birds^*  when  tamed  can  be  tanght  to  speak;  and  the 
American  mocking  bird,  which  Dr.  Golz,  of  BerUn, 
a  most  competent  judge,  gives  the  precedence  over  all 
species  of  nightingales,!  imitates  everything  conceiv- 
able, even  to  the  creaking  of  a  rusty  hinge.:]:  I  think 
this  is  easy  to  explain:  the  singers  have  had  their  pow- 
ers improved  by  practice  in  learning  their  complicated 
songs,  and  parrots  and  crows  are  endowed  with  unusual 
ability  for  speech,  for  which  imitation  is  particularly 
essential.  According  to  Karl  Russ,  these  birds  manifest 
a  certain  degree  of  comprehension  of  the  meaning  of 
words  uttered  by  them,  while  other  talking  birds  babble 
meaninglessly,  or  warble  the  words  in  song.  I  take  a 
canary  for  our  first  example.  Karl  Euss  says:  "  On  the 
23d  of  April,  1883,  I  called  on  the  vrife  of  Commissioner 
Graber  in  Berlin  to  see  and  hear  her  little  feathered 
talker.  The  lady  received  me  with  the  warning  that  I 
had  probably  come  in  vain,  for  the  bird  did  not  seem 
inclined  to  talk  that  day.  She  told  me  that  she  had  had 
him  for  about  three  years,  and  believed  him  to  be  quite 
young.  From  being  a  fine  singer  he  suddenly  stopped, 
probably  as  a  result  of  moulting,  and  as  his  silence 
continued  for  some  time  she  frequently  said  to  him, 
*  Sing  doch,  sing  doch,  mein  Matzchen,  wie  singst  du? 
widewidewitt! '  ^You  can  imagine  my  amazement,' 
she  continued,  *  when  the  canary  pronounced  for  the 
first  time  the  words  I  had  thus  quite  accidentally  said 

*  Karl  Russ,  Handbuch  fiir  Vugelliebhaber,  Zuchter,  und 
Handler,  ii.  p.  1-30. 

t  Ibid.,  i,  p.  284. 

X  [This  the  present  editor  can  confirm  in  the  g-reatest  variety 
of  detail.  He  has  heard  two  of  these  birds  toofether  imitatins::  the 
"clippinfi:"  of  a  gardener's  trimming-shears,  as  if  competing  with 
each  other.] 


198  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

to  him.  I  hardly  trusted  my  senses  and  could  not  un- 
derstand it  at  first/  When  the  lady  had  told  me  this, 
she  turned  to  the  canary  and  repeated  the  same  words. 
He  began  to  twitter,  and  in  the  midst  of  his  song  we 
heard  ^  Widewidewitt !  wie  singst  du,  mein  Matzchen? 
singe,  singe  Matzchen,  widewidewitt !  ^  Again  and 
again  he  repeated  it,  and  the  words  became  clearer  and 
plainer.  The  bird  did  not  articulate  the  words  in 
human  tones,  but  wove  them  into  his  song.  The  sound 
was  always  harmonious,  and  from  the  first  one  could 
understand  the  words,  but  they  became  more  distinct 
as  one  listened.^'  *  Euss  quotes  the  report  of  Mr. 
S.  Leigh  Lotheby,  in  the  Proceedings  of  the  Zoological 
Society  of  London  for  1858.  A  canary  bird  was  brought 
lip  by  hand  and  his  first  song  was  very  different  from 
the  characteristic  one  of  his  kind.f  He  was  constantly 
talked  to,  and  one  day  when  he  was  about  three  months 
old  he  astonished  his  mistress  by  pronouncing  after 
her  the  caressing  words  that  she  used  to  him,  "  Kissie, 
kissie,"  and  then  produced  the  smacking  sound  of 
a  kiss.  From  time  to  time  the  little  bird  learned  other 
words,  and  amused  his  friends  by  his  manner  of  using 
them  for  hours  at  a  time  (except  when  moulting)  in 
various  combinations  according  to  his  fancy,  and  as 
clearly  as  the  human  voice  can  produce  them:  "Dear, 
sweet  Fitchie,  kiss  Minnie,  kiss  me  then,  dear  Minnie, 
sweet,  pretty  little  Fitchie,  kissie,  kissie,  kissie,  dear 
Fitchie,  Fitchie,  wee,  gee,  gee,  gee  Fitchie,  Fitchie.'' 
The  habitual  song  of  this  bird  was  more  like  that  of  a 
nightingale,  and  the  sound  of  a  dog  whistle  used 
in  the  house  was  often  heard  in  it.     He   also  whis- 


*  Karl  Russ,  Allcrlei  sprechendes  geliedertes  Yolk,  1889,  p.  169. 
t  Another  proof  of  the  great  importance  of  imitation. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  199 

tied  very  clearly  the  first  strain  of  "  God  save  the 
Queen."  * 

The  European  bullfinch,  whose  natural  song  the 
Thuringians  call  "  rolling  a  wheelbarrow,"  though  it 
has  great  variety,  readily  learns  to  whistle  songs.  The 
elder  Brehm  says  of  it:  "I  have  heard  the  red  linnet 
and  the  black  thrush  whistle  many  tunes  not  badly, 
but  no  other  bird  attains  a  purity,  softness,  and  rich- 
ness of  tone  equal  to  the  bullfinch.  It  is  incredible 
how  far  he  can  be  trained.  He  often  learns  the  melody 
of  whole  songs  and  produces  them  Avith  such  a  flutelike 
tone  that  one  never  tires  of  hearing  him."  Herr  Theo- 
dor  Franck,  of  Berlin,  writes  that  his  bullfinch  was  quite 
a  skilful  whistler.  "  But  the  accomplishment  that  en- 
deared him  to  us  is  his  having  learned  to  repeat  the 
words  that  my  wife  and  I  address  to  him  as  he  hangs 
in  our  chamber.  *  Little  man,  are  you  there  ?  ^  or  *  Cour- 
age, Mannikin,  courage.^  The  red  linnet  has  a  wonder- 
ful facility  in  imitating  the  songs  of  strange  birds,  as 
well  as  real  melodies  and  discords.  The  crested  lark 
sometimes  learns  as  many  as  four  different  tunes,  and 
mimics  birds  and  animals  as  well. 

Count  Gourcy  writes  to  the  elder  Brehm  of  the 
bimting  of  southern  Europe:  "Its  call  resembles,  in 
all  but  one  deep  tone,  the  decoy  cry  of  the  crested 
lark.  Its  song  is  magnificent,  and  really  extraordinary 
for  its  variety.  It  possesses  the  rare  power  of  chang- 
ing the  quality  of  its  voice  at  will,  producing  now  high, 
shrill  notes  and  then  tones  so  clear  as  to  astonish  the 
hearer.  Usually  some  strains  of  the  nightingale's  song 
follow  the  first  call,  then  comes  the  long-drawn,  deep 
cry  of  the  blackbird,  in  which  the  familiar  '  Tack,  tack ' 


*  Riiss,  loc.  cif ,  p.  174. 
15 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

is  sounded  very  beautifully.  After  this  follow  strains 
that  sometimes  include  the  whole  song  of  the  chimney 
swallow,  song  thrush,  quail,  woodlark,  linnet,  field  lark, 
and  crested  lark,  the  finch  and  sparrow,  the  laughter 
of  woodpeckers,  and  shrieking  of  herons,  all  of  which 
are  produced  in  the  natural  tone/^ 

"  The  paradise  bird,"  says  Alix,  "  has  equally  with 
the  group  of  singing  birds  excellent  imitative  powers. 
I  had  one,  writes  Blythe,  that  mimicked  the  kittacincla 
macrowra  so  well  that  no  one  could  distinguish  their 
songs.  I  also  owned  another  having  the  same  power. 
There  is  no  sound  that  it  can  not  imitate.  It  crows  so 
perfectly  that  cocks  answer  it,  and  it  barks  and  mews 
quite  as  well,  bleats  like  a  goat  or  sheep,  howls  plain- 
tively like  a  beaten  cur,  croaks  like  a  crow,  and  sings 
the  song  of  many  birds."  *  The  American  mocking 
bird,  which  has  been  referred  to  as  a  splendid  singer, 
has  also  a  remarkable  talent  for  mimicry.  "  In  its 
native  woods,"  says  Brehm,  "  it  mocks  the  wild  birds; 
near  human  dwellings,  it  weaves  into  its  song  all  sorts 
of  sounds  heard  there.  Crowing,  cackling,  quacking, 
mewing,  barking,  creaking  of  doors  and  weathervanes, 
the  hum  of  a  saw  and  rattle  of  a  mill — all  these  and  a 
hundred  other  noises  are  reproduced  with  the  utmost 
faithfulness."  f  European  thrushes,  too,  have,  Brehm 
says,  a  strong  propensity  to  imitation,  though  they  con- 
fine it  more  to  their  own  kind.  Yet  the  blackbird 
"  mimics  birds  of  strange  species  and  sometimes  be- 
comes   a    veritable    mocking    bird."|      According    to 

*  F.  Alix,  L'esprit  de  nos  betes,  p.  802. 

f  See,  too,  Hudson's  beautiful  description  of  Patagonian  mock- 
ing birds.     The  Naturalist  in  La  Plata,  p.  276. 

\  Romanes  says  that  both  the  blackbird  and  the  crow  have  been 
known  to  mimic  a  cock.     Mental  Evolution  m  Animals,  p.  242. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  201 

Brehm,  too,  the  stone  thrush  and  blackbird  are  talking 
birds  as  well,  though  Euss  questions  this.  Beckstein 
has  shown  by  experiment  that  the  stone  thrush  can 
be  taught  to  whistle  melodies.  The  natural  song  of  the 
starling  consists  in  complicated  '''  fluting,  piping,  twit- 
tering, and  chuckling  sounds.^^  *  But  they  copy  the 
songs  of  other  birds,  cock  crows,  hen  cackles,  door  creak- 
ing, etc.,  and  have  been  known  to  attempt  human 
speech.  The  older  writers  have  no  doubt  exaggerated 
this  capacity,  but  the  following  testimony  will  show 
how  far  the  starling  can  be  educated.  K.  Dittman 
writes  of  the  learned  starling  owned  by  the  master 
shoemaker  G.  Dom:  "  The  bird  learned  with  surpris- 
ing ease  to  whistle  the  ^  Call  of  the  Fire  Brigade  ^  and 
other  tunes.  His  name  was  Hans,  and  his  master  would 
call  out  often  during  a  lesson,  ^  Careful,  Hans,  careful '; 
he  quickly  learned  this  and  pronounced  the  words  with 
perfect  ease,  proving  his  ability  to  talk  as  well  as  catch 
a  tune.  It  was  very  comical  to  see  him  stand  among 
the  cobblers  and  call  out,  ^  Hurrah  for  Bismarck! '  or 
cry  '  Pickpocket ! '  when  any  one  came  in  the  door." 
Another  starling  could  say  all  the  following:  "Have 
you  heard  the  news?  My,  but  it's  good!  Good  morn- 
ing; are  you  up  already?  What  do  you  know  that's 
nice?  How  is  the  Kaiser  getting  on?  And  what's  the 
matter  with  Bismarck?  God  bless  you!  Are  you  there? 
Take  a  seat;  are  you  a  fool?  Yes,  yes!  "  \  But  the 
Asiatic  magpie  is  the  most  talented  of  all  the  starlings, 
and  claims  among  its  connections  some  of  the  very  finest 
singers.  J; 

Passing  by  many  other  imitative  birds,  I  turn  now  to 


*  Russ,  Allerlei  sprechendes  gefiedertes  Volk,  p.  138. 
+  Ibid.,  p.  145.  X  Ibid.,  p.  160. 


202  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

the  ravens.  Dickens's  description  of  one  in  the  preface 
to  Barnaby  Eudge  is  too  familiar  to  need  quoting  for 
EngHsh  and  American  readers. 

Naumann's  remark  that  ravens  are  more  easily 
taught  to  speak  than  parrots  is  probably  an  exagger- 
ation,* but  it  is  undeniable  that  imitativeness  has 
reached  an  extraordinary  development  in  these  birds. 
Chr.  L.  Brehm  says  of  one:  "  His  talent  for  mimicking 
every  sound  with  his  voice  is  remarkable.  He  laughs 
like  the  children,  coos  like  the  pigeons,  barks  like  a  dog, 
and  talks  like  a  man.  His  reproduction  of  certain  tones 
is  so  deceptive  that  some  of  my  friends,  hearing  him 
for  the  first  time,  could  not  be  convinced  that  such 
sounds  actually  proceeded  from  a  bird.  *  James,  come 
here,^  '  Eudolph,  come  in,'  ^  Don't  you  hear  me,  Chris- 
tine?' and  much  more,  he  articulated  perfectly  and 
voluntarily,  not  because  it  was  required  of  him.  He 
picked  up  all  these  words,  for  no  one  ever  took  the 
least  pains  with  him,  but  he  could  be  heard  trying  new 
words  every  day,  of  those  that  he  constantly  heard 
around  him."  f  The  Miillers,  too,  mention  similar  in- 
stances.]; 

But  of  all  birds,  parrots  are  the  ones  that  manifest 
playful  imitation  most  strongly.  Their  powers  were 
well  known  as  far  back  as  the  Eomans,  for  Cato  thun- 
ders against  the  luxuriousness  of  the  jeunesse  doree  of 
his  time  for  flaunting  in  the  streets  with  parrots  on  their 
thumbs;  and  courtiers  under  the  emperors  taught  the 
birds  the  formula  of  greeting  and  gratulation  to  the 


*  Nature^eschiohte  der  Vosfel  Deutschlands,  ii,  p.  47. 
f  Beitra2:e  zur  VoGrelknnrlo.  ii,  p.  80. 

X  A.  and  K.  Mliller.  Wohnunfren.  Leben  und  Eigenthiiralich- 
keiten  in  der  hoheren  Thierwelt,  p.  364. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  203 

Ccesar.  Kristan  von  Hamle,  one  of  the  lesser  Thiirin- 
gian  minnesingers,  expressed  the  wish  in  1225: 

"  Oh,  that  the  green  grass  too  could  speak 
As  doth  the  parrot  in  his  cage !  " 

And  Celius  tells  iis  that  the  parrot  belonging  to  Car- 
dinal Ascanius  could  recite  the  twelve  articles  of  faith.* 

This  highly  developed  impulse  of  imitation  in  the 
parrot  is  probably  due  to  the  unusual  intricacy  of  their 
native  language.  Marshall  says:  '^  One  must  hear  them 
when  they  do  not  know  that  they  are  observed,  and 
when  a  pair  chat  together,  to  appreciate  their  fulness  of 
tone  and  the  variety  of  meaning  they  can  convey  in 
one  of  their  long  conversations/^  f  To  learn  speech  so 
complicated  as  this  requires  imitative  power,  and  in  this 
case  it  seems  especially  developed  in  the  imitation  of 
sounds.  X 

In  selecting  some  examples  to  insert  here  I  regret 
being  obliged  to  omit  a  very  remarkable  one  related  by 
Brehm.  In  his  battle  for  individual  reason  against 
instinct  he  became  strangely  credulous,  and  all  his  ex- 
amples bearing  on  that  topic  are  under  the  shadow 
of  that  imputation.  The  following  collection,  how- 
ever, is  vouched  for  as  unimpeachable  by  Karl  Russ,  in 
his  Feathered  World.  Of  the  wonderful  gray  parrot 
belonging  to  Director  Kastner  in  Vienna  it  is  said: 
"  For  a  while  after  coming  to  us  he  spoke  only  when 
alone  in  the  room,  but  soon  took  to  chattering  without 
noticing  his  surroundings,  joining  heartily  in  a  laugh, 

*  W.  Marshall,  Die  Papageien,  Leipsic,  1889,  p.  3. 

t  Ibid,,  p.  42. 

X  It  is  worthy  of  note  that  I  have  not  been  able  to  find  a  single 
instance  of  imitation  of  the  speech  of  other  beings,  either  man  or 
animal,  by  a  monkey;  and  yet  many  kinds  have  a  well-developed 
language  of  their  own. 


204  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

too,  on  occasion.  On  hearing  a  low  whistle,  he  said, 
'Karo,  where  is  Karo?'  and  himself  whistled  for  the 
dog.  He  could  whistle  with  rare  skill  a  great  variety 
of  melodies,  and  reproduce  any  air  perfectly.  As  soon 
as  the  dinner  bell  rang  he  called  the  waitress  louder  and 
louder  until  she  appeared.  If  a  knock  came  at  the 
door,  he  said  '  Come  in,'  but  was  never  deceived  by  any 
one  in  the  room.  If  he  saw  preparation  made  for  un- 
corking a  bottle,  he  made  the  noise  long  before  the 
cork  was  out.  He  talked  to  himself  in  soft,  gentle 
tones,  "  You  good,  good  Jacky,'  etc.,  but  would  call  out 
in  a  strong  masculine  voice,  '  Turn  out,  guard ! '  etc., 
and  make  the  roll  of  a  drum.  He  could  count,  and 
if  he  made  a  mistake  or  mispronounced  a  word  he  would 
go  back  and  try  it  again  till  it  was  all  right.  When 
the  green  parrot  standing  near  him  screamed,  he  first 
tried  to  quiet  her  with  a  reproving  '  Pst ! '  but  if  that 
did  not  avail  he  called  out  in  a  loud  voice,  ^  Hush,  hush, 
you! '  He  loved  to  talk  to  himself  late  in  the  evening, 
and  regularly  closed  his  monologue  with  the  words, 
'  Good  night,  good  night,  Jacky.' "  * 

Herr  Ch.  Schwendt  says  of  his  gray  parrot:  "My 
parrot  is  a  living  proof  that  one  should  never  despair 
of  teaching  these  birds  to  speak.  I  had  to  wait  eight 
months  before  he  brought  out  the  word  ^  Jacob,'  but 
the  ice  once  broken,  I  was  richly  rewarded  for  my  pa- 
tience; he  learned  something  new  almost  every  day, 
and  now  after  four  years  he  knows  more  than  I  can  tell. 
There  is  hardly  any  expression  commonly  used  in  the 
family  that  he  has  not  learned  to  repeat,  and  how  well 
he  knows  how  to  apply  them!  He  speaks  of  everybody 
in  the  house  and  all  the  animals  by  name,  whistles  to  the 

*  K.  Russ,  Die  sprechenden  Papageien,  1887,  p.  28. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  205 

dogs  and  orders  them  about,  coaxes  the  cats  or  scolds 
them.  He  has  the  names  of  all  the  other  birds  at  his 
tongue's  end,  and  answers  with  the  right  one  at  the 
sound  of  their  voices,  never  confusing  them.  He  can 
alter  his  voice  from  the  tenderest  caressing  tone  to  a 
gruff  command,  '  Present  arms! '  or  the  like,  all  in  tones 
astonishingly  human  and  with  clear  pronunciation. 
He  recites  verses  and  praises  himself  when  he  has  not 
made  any  mistakes ;  but  if  he  does,  he  says,  ^  That's  not 
it,  stupid ! '  He  uses  every  greeting  at  the  right  time  of 
day,  and  can  apply  everything  he  knows  with  propri- 
ety. He  can  count  correctly  up  to  eight."  *  Such  ex- 
amples shows  that  with  parrots  something  more  than 
mere  blind  imitation  is  involved,  since  such  highly  en- 
dowed specimens  as  this  one  can  make  the  proper  con- 
nection between  the  acoustic  symbol  and  its  mental  im- 
port, but  great  caution  must  be  exercised  to  avoid  exag- 
gerated interpretations  of  their  performances.  The  gray 
parrot  of  the  African  traveller  Soyaux  showed  a  greater 
ability  to  learn :  "  An  old  bird  w^hen  caught,  he 
never  was  thoroughly  tamed,  but  was  greatly  admired 
on  account  of  his  size.  He  talked  very  little,  only  rarely 
pronouncing  the  word  ^  kusu,'  which  is  the  native  desig- 
nation for  parrots,  but  his  great  forte  was  whistling,  in 
which  I  have  never  seen  him  excelled.  Not  that  he 
"was  so  specially  skilful  in  whistling  whole  songs,  but 
the  modulation  was  wonderful — as  strong,  full,  and 
clear  as  a  bell,  like  high  organ  notes.  He  would  roll 
up  and  down  the  scale,  skipping  a  note  and  sounding 
it  after  the  succeeding  one.  His  memory  of  ^African 
bird  notes  was  remarkable,  and  he  imitated  perfectly 
the  call  of  plovers,  cranes,  etc."  \ 

*  K.  Russ,  Die  sprechenden  Papageien,  p.  29.        f  Ibid.,  p.  31. 


206  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

Cockatoos,  ring  parrots,  and  some  other  varieties 
also  learn  to  speak  readily,  the  latter  having  been 
known  to  acquire  as  many  as  a  hundred  words  in  vari- 
ous languages,  and  articulate  them  perfectly.  The 
cockatoo  is  a  very  sociable  bird,  and  indulges  in  much 
gesticulation  and  genuflection  wdiile  speaking.  "  Nod- 
ding the  head  and  making  the  drollest  bows  that  shake 
his  bright  crest,  he  turns  and  clambers  about  and  laughs 
with  real  appreciation  of  the  joke  when  he  mimics  the 
movements,  words,  or  cries  of  another."* 

In  concluding  this  series  of  examples  I  wish  to  in- 
clude a  few  illustrating  more  directly  the  social  aspect 
of  imitation.  I  remember  that  Spencer  says  it  is 
^'  sympathy "  that  induces  a  whole  flock  of  birds  to 
rise  when  one  flies  off,  and  I  think  that  such  effects  of 
imitation  on  masses  may  at  times  be  playful  as  w^ell. 
The  following  interesting  remark  of  James's  will  serve 
to  illustrate  what  I  mean:  "  There  is  another  sort  of 
human  play,  into  which  higher  aesthetic  feelings  enter. 
I  refer  to  the  love  of  festivities,  ceremonies,  and  or- 
deals, etc.,  which  seems  to  be  universal  in  our  species. 
The  lowest  savages  have  their  dances  more  or  less  for- 
mally conducted.  The  various  religions  have  their  sol- 
emn rites  and  exercises,  and  civic  and  military  powers 
symbolize  their  grandeur  by  processions  and  celebrations 
of  divers  sorts.  We  have  our  operas  and  parties  and 
masquerades.  An  element  common  to  all  these  cere- 
monial games,  as  they  are  called,  is  the  excitement  of 
concerted  action,  as  one  of  an  organized  crowd.  The 
same  acts,  performed  with  a  crowd,  seem  to  mean  vastly 
more  than  when  performed  alone.  A  walk  with  the 
people  on  a  holiday  afternoon,  an  excursion  to  drink 

*  K.  Russ,  Die  sprechendcii  Papageien,  p.  117. 


THE  PLAY  OP  ANIMALS.  207 

beer  or  coffee  at  a  popular  ^  resort/  or  an  ordinary  ball- 
room, are  examples  of  this.  Not  only  are  we  amused  at 
seeing  so  many  strangers,  but  there  is  a  distinct  stimu- 
lation at  feeling  our  share  in  their  collective  life.  The 
perception  of  them  is  the  stimulus,  and  our  reaction 
upon  it  is  our  tendency  to  join  them  and  do  what  they 
are  doing,  and  our  unwillingness  to  be  the  first  to  leave 
off  and  go  home  alone."  * 

From  the  last  words  it  is  evident  that  such  mass 
plays  are  based  on  imitation,  and  that  social  influences 
of  the  greatest  importance  belong  to  them.  G.  Tarde 
regards  it  as  tlie  fundamental  principle  of  all  society. 
There  are,  he  says,  in  his  daring  way  of  drawing  analo- 
gies, three  great  laws  of  repetition:  undulation  in  phys- 
ics, the  nutritive-generative  principle  in  physiology,  and 
imitation  in  psychology.  Imitation  makes  society: 
"  la  societe  c'est  Vimitation."  f 

Since,  then,  imitation  has  so  much  to  do  with  the 
social  life  of  men  and  animals,  we  are  not  surprised  to 
find  it  prominent  in  their  sports.  Herds  and  flocks 
unite  in  various  games,  vocal  practice,  and  even  in  try- 
ing the  arts  of  courtship  and  combat,  when  the  playful 

*  W.  James,  The  Principles  of  Psyeholop^y,  ii.  p.  428. 

f  Gr.  Tarde,  Qu'est-oe  qu'une  societe?  Revue  philosophiqne, 
xviii  (1884).  See  the  article  on  Imitation  by  J.  Mark  Baldwin 
(Mind,  1894),  who  regards  the  change  produced  by  expansion  and 
contraction  in  protoplasm  as  the  first  manifestation  of  organic 
reactions  of  the  imitative  or  "circular"  type  which  therefore  ])e- 
conies  a  central  phenomenon  of  life.  Professor  Baldwin  has  now 
developed  his  psychological  theory  of  imitation  in  his  work.  Mental 
Development  in  the  Child  and  the  Race,  to  which  I  have  already 
frequently  referred.  And  in  his  later  work  (1897),  Social  and 
Ethical  Interpretations  in  ^Mental  Development,  he  shows  that  the 
sense  of  self  upon  which  social  organization  rests  is  developed  only 
by  imitation. 


208  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

act  of  one  animal  spreads  through  the  whole  company 
like  a  sudden  contagion.  Very  often,  and  especially 
in  the  courtship  plays,  what  is  at  first  taken  up  in  a 
mere  spirit  of  imitation  becomes  the  sharpest  rivalry. 

It  is  difficult  to  speak  w^ith  assurance  in  this  matter, 
of  the  larger  mammals  especially,  but  I  have  no  doubt 
whatever  that  the  mad  rushing  of  great  herds  of  wild 
horses,  deer,  and  goats  that  is  so  common  on  the  plains 
is  as  often  the  result  of  a  general  desire  to  play  as  of 
apprehended  danger.  When  one  cow  in  a  herd  leaps 
down  the  slope  where  they  are  grazing,  a  large  part  of 
the  herd  will  often  follow  with  sportive  bounds  and 
mock  fighting.  Even  a  drove  of  pigs  will  show  play- 
ful movements  that  are  infectious;  the  wild  gambols 
of  seals  and  dolphins  have  already  been  instanced. 
Hudson  saw  a  very  beautiful  game  played  by  a  number 
of  weasels.  "  They  were  of  the  common  larger  kind 
of  w^easel  {Galidis  tarbara),  about  the  size  of  cats,  and 
engaged  in  a  performance  that  suggested  dancing, 
which  so  absorbed  their  attention  that  they  did  not  no- 
tice me  when  I  came  within  four  or  five  metres  of 
them  to  see  what  they  were  doing.  It  proved  to  be  a 
chase  on  a  deserted  viscacha  mound;  they  all,  about 
a  dozen  in  number,  ran  swiftly  across.  Jumping  over 
the  holes,  turned  at  the  end  of  the  mound  and  came 
flying  back  without  ever  colliding  with  one  another, 
though  they  were  apparently  beside  themselves  with  ex- 
citement, and  their  paths  crossed  at  every  possible  angle. 
It  was  all  done  so  quickly  and  with  such  constant 
changing  of  direction  that  I  found  it  impossible  to  fol- 
low a  single  animal  with  my  eye,  however  hard  I 
tried.^^  * 

*  The  Naturalist  in  La  Plata,  p.  384. 


THE  PLAY  OF   AXBIALS.  209 

If  tlie  destructive  impulse  that  seizes  children  in 
the  presence  of  beetles  and  frogs,  or  even  larger  animals, 
such  as  cats,  has  anything  playful  about  it,  an  example 
that  Hudson  relates  in  his  chapter  on  "  Some  Strange 
Instincts  of  Cattle"  may  not  be  out   of  place  here. 
This  execution,  as  it  were,  of  sick  or  wounded  compan- 
ions is  also  common  among  birds  and  carnivorous  ani- 
mals that  live  in  companies.     When  a  rat  is  wounded, 
his  comrades  slay  him;  indeed,  Azara  says  that  pinch- 
ing the  tail  of  a  captive  rat  until  he  squeals  is  enough 
to  make  his  companions  fall  upon  him  and  bite  him  to 
death.*     Hudson,  speaking  of  his  childish  memories, 
says:  "  It  was  on  a  summer's  evening  and  I  was  out  by 
myself  at  some  distance  from  the  house,  playing  about 
the  high  exposed  roots  of  some  old  trees;  on  the  other 
side  of  the  trees  the  cattle,  just  returned  from  pasture, 
were  gathered  on  the  bare,  level  ground.     Hearing  a 
great  commotion  among  them,  I  climbed  on  one  of  the 
high  exposed  roots  and,  looking  over,  saw  a  cow  on  the 
ground,  apparently  unable  to  rise,  moaning  and  bellow- 
ing in  a  distressed  way,  while  a  number  of  her  compan- 
ions were  crowding  round  and  goring  her.''  f     To  the 
same  category  belongs  Dr.  Edmonson's  somewhat  fan- 
tastic description  of  an  execution  by  crows.     "In  the 
northern  parts  of  Scotland  and  in  the  Faroe  Islands 
extraordinary  meetings  of  crows  are  occasionally  known 
to  occur.     They  collect  in  great  numbers  as  if  they  had 
been  summoned  for  the  occasion;  a  few  of  the  flock  sit 
with  drooping  heads  and  others  seem  as  grave  as  judges, 
while  others,  again,  are  exceedingly  active  and  noisy; 
in  the  course  of  about  one  hour  they  disperse,  and  it  is 
not  uncommon  after  they  have  flown  away  to  find  one 


*  The  Naturalist  in  La  Plata,  p.  3413.  f  Ibid.,  p.  339. 


210  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

or  two  left  dead  on  the  spot."  *  Hudson  explains 
such  instances  of  frantic  murder  as  the  first  two  as 
caused  by  the  impulse  to  relieve  tortured  comrades — 
the  enraged  animals  make  for  the  enemy  that  has  caused 
their  distress,  and  in  a  kind  of  madness  fall  upon  his 
victim,  to  whose  rescue  they  have  come.  This  does 
not  seem  plausible  to  me.  Darwin  and  Eomanes  are 
of  the  opinion  that  it  is  a  special  instinct,  useful  to  the 
species;  but  this  also  seems  to  me  to  be  an  inadequate 
explanation,  for  it  does  not  tell  us  why  it  is  not  enough 
for  the  herd  simply  to  abandon  such  unfortunates  to 
their  fate.  The  truth  of  the  matter  is,  I  think,  that 
we  have  here  no  special  instinct,  but  another  form  of 
the  old  impulse  for  fighting  and  destroying  that  is  al- 
ways ready  to  break  out.  "  In  the  misfortune  of  our 
best  friends  there  is  always  something  pleasurable,'' 
say  La  Eochefoucauld  and  Kant.  The  sight  of  a  crip- 
ple or  an  intoxicated  person  often  arouses  in  children 
and  savages  a  wild  desire  to  worry  and  torment,  and 
just  so  the  inherited  impulse  to  injure  and  destroy 
finds  expression  in  the  animal  and  is  communicated 
by  means  of  the  powerful  principle  of  imitation, 
through  a  whole  herd,  before  quite  peaceable.  Actual 
play  it  can  not  be  said  to  be,  and  therefore  I  shall  not 
spend  any  more  time  over  the  question,  though,  in  a 
certain  sense,  it  resembles  play. 

We  do  find  genuine  play  in  the  vocal  practice  that 
so  many  mammals  constantly  indulge  in.  ±V  zoological 
garden  where  several  lions  are  kept  is  a  good  place  to 
observe  this.  I  have  often  listened  while  a  young  lion 
lifted  up  his  voice,  at  first  with  a  peculiar  gurgling 
sound,  then  in  thundering  roars  in  which  others  joined 

*  Romanes,  Animal  Intelhgence,  p.  324. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  211 

in  a  frightful  concert  that  made  the  whole  house  trem- 
ble. Brehm  says:  "  Lions  in  the  wilderness,  too,  de- 
light in  this;  as  soon  as  one  lifts  up  his  mighty  voice 
all  others  within  hearing  join  him,  making  magnificent 
music  in  the  primeval  forest/^  Most  remarkable  are 
the  concerts  of  howling  apes,  whose  din  fills  the  South 
American  wilderness;  with  them,  too,  a  solitary  voice 
is  heard  at  first  which  incites  the  rest  to  accompany 
the  leader.  I  believe  this  is  a  phenomenon  of  courtship, 
like  the  nocturnal  wailings  of  cats. 

Imitation  seems  to  be  even  more  provocative  of  con- 
certs among  the  birds.  I  included  under  experimenta- 
tion descriptions  of  the  chakar,  of  the  familiar  cries 
and  gabbling  of  geese,  ducks,  and  crows,  and  of  the 
myriad-voiced  concerts  of  our  woodland  singers  which 
mutually  incite  one  another.  I  cite  a  description  of 
Hudson's  which  might  apply  to  many  birds  that  de- 
light our  eyes  by  their  evolutions  in  flight.  "  In  clear 
weather  they  often  rise  to  a  great  height  and  float  for 
hours  in  the  same  neighbourhood — a  beautiful  cloud  of 
birds  that  does  not  change  its  form,  .  .  .  but  in  this 
apparent  vagueness  there  is  perfect  order,  and  among 
all  those  hundreds  of  swiftly  gliding  forms  each  knoAvs 
its  place  so  well  that  no  two  ever  touch;  .  .  .  there  is 
such  wonderful  precision  in  the  endless  curves  made 
by  each  single  bird  that  an  observer  can  lie  on  his  back 
for  an  hour  watching  this  mysterious  cloud  dance  in 
the  open  without  tiring." 

The  black-headed  ibis  of  Patagonia,  which  is  almost 
as  large  as  a  turkey,  carries  on  a  strange  wild  game 
in  the  evening.  A  whole  flock  seems  to  be  suddenly 
crazed;  sometimes  they  fly  up  into  the  air  with  startling 
suddenness,  move  about  in  a  most  erratic  way,  and  as 
they  near  the  ground  start  up  again  and  so  repeat  the 


212  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

game,  while  the  air  for  kilometres  around  vibrates  with 
their  harsh,  metallic  cries.  Most  ducks  confine  their 
pla}^  to  mock  battles  on  the  water,  but  the  beautiful 
whistling  duck  of  La  Plata  conducts  them  on  the  wing 
as  well.  From  ten  to  twenty  of  them  rise  in  the  air  until 
they  appear  like  a  tiny  speck,  or  entirely  disappear. 
At  this  great  height  they  often  remain  for  hours  in  one 
place,  slowly  separating  and  coming  together  again, 
while  the  high,  clear  whistle  of  the  male  blends  admira- 
bly with  the  female's  deeper,  measured  note,  and  when 
they  approach  they  strike  one  another  so  powerfully  with 
their  wings  that  the  sound,  which  is  like  hand-clapping, 
remains  audible  when  the  birds  are  out  of  sight.  The 
most  beautiful  member  of  the  quail  family  found  in  La 
Plata  is  the  ypecaha — a  fine,  strong  bird  about  the  size 
of  a  hen.  A  number  of  them  choose  a  rendezvous  near 
the  water.  One  raises  a  loud  cry  three  times  from  the 
reeds  near  this  spot,  and  the  invitation  is  quickly  re- 
sponded to  by  the  other  birds,  who  hasten  thither  from 
every  direction  till  ten  or  twenty  are  collected.  Then 
the  performance,  which  consists  in  a  frightful  concert 
of  screams,  begins  in  tones  that  are  strongly  suggestive 
of  the  human  voice  when  it  expresses  extreme  terror 
or  agonizing  pain.  A  long,  penetrating  cry  of  aston- 
ishing force  and  violence  follows  the  deeper  tones  as 
though  the  creature  would  exhaust  all  its  strength  in 
this  alarm.  Sometimes  this  double  call  is  repeated  and 
is  accompanied  by  other  sounds  that  resemble  half- 
smothered  groans,  and  all  the  while  the  birds  run  about 
as  if  possessed,  their  wings  outstretched,  their  beaks 
wide  open  and  held  up.  After  two  or  three  minutes 
the  company  quietly  breaks  up. 

Jacanas,  strange  birds  with  peculiar  cockscomblike 
head  decorations,  spurs  on  their  wings,  and  long,  thin 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  213 

claws,  give  a  kind  of  exhibition  which  apparently  serves 
the  purpose  of  displaying  their  wing  decorations,  which 
are  concealed,  under  ordinary  circumstances.  From 
twelve  to  fifteen  of  them  come  together  at  the  signal, 
form  in  a  close  mass,  and,  while  producing  short,  quick- 
ly repeated  notes,  unfurl  their  wings  like  a  standard  of 
banners.  Some  hold  them  upright  and  rigid,  others 
keep  them  half  open  with  quick  vibration,  and  still 
others  wave  them  with  slow,  regular  motion  back  and 
forth.* 

In  all  these  examples,  which  might  easily  be  mul- 
tiplied, courtship  is  evidently  the  unconscious  basis,  as 
any  unbiased  mind  must  be  convinced  by  a  glance  at 
the  following  chapter.  When  the  contagious  influence 
of  imitation  becomes  a  factor  in  mass  games,  they  are 
easily  converted  into  veritable  orgies.  I  think  we  en- 
counter here  among  the  birds  the  same  principles  that 
govern  ethnology  and  the  history  of  human  civilization. 
Their  plays  correspond  with  our  general  dance  that  is 
so  closely  connected  with  sexual  excitement,  and  the 
examples  given  above  may  be  likened  to  Middendorf  s 
description  of  a  dance  of  savages.  "  The  dance  soon 
became  boisterous,  the  movements  mere  leaps  and  hops, 
the  faces  inflamed,  the  cries  more  and  more  ecstatic 
as  each  tried  to  exceed  the  others.  The  fur  coats  and 
breeches  were  thrown  ofl;,  and  they  all  seemed  to  be 
seized  with  a  frenzy.  Some,  indeed,  made  an  effort 
to  withstand  it,  but  soon  their  heads  took  the  motion, 
now  right,  now  left,  till  suddenly  the  onlookers  leaped 
among  the  dancers  as  if  they  had  broken  some  con- 
trolling bonds,  and  widened  the  circle.^'  f 

*  See  The  Naturalist  in  La  Plata,  p.  265. 

f  0.  Stoll,  Suggestion  und  Hypnotisraus  in  der  Volkerpsvcho- 
logie,  Leipzig,  1804,  p.  24. 


•214  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

The  principal  difference  is  that  the  motions  of  the 
human  dancer  less  clearly  betray  the  courting  instinct, 
though  it  is  none  the  less  there,  however  latent,  and  we 
may  learn  much  from  the  courtship  of  birds  that  is  ap- 
plicable to  man  as  well. 

8.  Curiosity. 

Curiosity  is  the  only  purely  intellectual  form  of 
playfulness  that  I  have  encountered  in  the  animal 
world.  It  is  apparently  a  special  form  of  experimen- 
tation, and  its  psychologic  accompaniment  is  attention, 
w^hich  indeed  is  a  requisite  to  the  exercise  of  most  of 
the  important  instincts.  Leroy  has  said  that  three 
things  demand  the  animal's  attention:  the  cravings  of 
hunger,  those  of  desire,  and  the  necessity  of  avoiding 
danger,*  and  Eibot,  too,  assigns  the  same  reasons  for 
its  importance.!  This  important  faculty  finds  a  play- 
ful expression  in  curiosity,  which  may  be  called  sportive 
apperception.  This  function,  that  forms  an  essential 
element  in  the  activity  of  all  the  principal  instincts, 
especially  those  of  feeding  and  flight,  oversteps  its  utili- 
tarian character  in  curiosity  and  becomes  play.  The 
necessity  for  mental  exercise  is  the  primary  reason  for 
this  kind  of  playfulness,  added  to  the  increase  of  knowl- 
edge. As  James  expresses  it,  it  aids  in  the  preservation 
of  the  species,  "  inasmuch  as  the  new  object  may  al- 
ways be  advantageous.'^  X 

*  Lettres  philosophique  sur  I'intelligence  et  la  perfectibilite  des 
animaux.  p.  71. 

f  Th.  Ribot,  Psycholofjie  de  Tattention,  p.  44.  I  think  Ribot  is 
right  in  emphasizing  hunger  and  fear  more  than  desire. 

X  W.James,  Principles  of  Psychology,  ii,  p.  429.  I  have  already 
pointed  out  that  all  play  employs  the  attention,  and,  indeed,  all 
the  mental  powers.     Sikorski  bhows  that  attention  is  developed  in 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  215 

N'ext  to  the  child,  the  monkey  is  the  most  curious  of 
animals.  I  repeat  the  anecdote  often  cited  from  Dar- 
win as  the  best  example  we  have :  "  Brehm  gives  a 
curious  account  of  the  instinctive  dread  which  his  mon- 
keys exhibited  toward  snakes,  but  their  curiosity  was  so 
great  that  they  could  not  desist  from  occasionally  sati- 
ating their  horror  in  the  most  human  fashion — by  lifting 
up  the  lid  of  the  box  in  which  the  snakes  were  kept. 
I  was  so  much  surprised  at  his  account  that  I  took  a 
stuffed  and  coiled-up  snake  into  the  monkey  house  at 
the  Zoological  Gardens,  and  the  excitement  thus  caused 
was  one  of  the  most  curious  spectacles  which  I  ever 
beheld.  Three  species  of  the  Cercopithecus  were  the 
most  alarmed;  they  dashed  about  their  cages  and  ut- 
tered sharp  signal  cries  of  danger  which  were  under- 
stood by  the  other  monkeys.  ...  I  then  placed  the 
stuffed  specimen  on  the  ground  in  one  of  the  larger  com- 
partments. After  a  time  all  the  monkeys  collected 
round  it  in  a  large  circle,  and,  staring  intently,  pre- 
sented a  most  ludicrous  appearance.  ...  I  then  placed 
a  live  snake  in  a  paper  bag,  with  the  mouth  loosely 
closed,  in  one  of  the  larger  compartments.  Then  I 
witnessed  what  Brehm  has  described,  for  monkey  after 
monkey,  with  head  raised  high  and  turned  on  one  side, 
could  not  resist  taking  momentary  peeps  into  the  up- 
right bag  at  the  dreadful  object  lying  quiet  at  the  bot- 
tom." * 

That  dogs,  too,  are  curious  is  a  familiar  fact.  A 
strange  dog  attracts  immediate  attention,  and  a  favourite 
curb  excites  as  much  interest  as  a  lonely  tourist  bestows 
on  the  register  of  his  inn.  Curiosity  adds  to  the  watch- 
children  by  play  (Revue  philosophique,  April,  1885).  But,  in  curi- 
osity, attention  itself  becomes  play. 

*  Descent  of  Man.  vol.  i,  p.  41. 
16 


216  THE   PLAY   OF  ANIMALS. 

dog's  value  by  inciting  liim  to  investigate  every  sound. 
Scheitlin,  overlooking  the  monkey,  calls  dogs  the  most 
curious  of  animals  next  to  goats,  and,  strange  to  say, 
nightingales.*  The  curiosity  of  a  dog  is  very  ludicrous 
when  a  beetle  runs  before  him;  evidently  he  is  a  little 
afraid  of  the  tiny  creature,  but  he  can  not  rest  until 
he  has  smelled  it  all  over.  A  dog  that  Eomanes  tells 
of  behaved  in  the  same  way  with  a  soap  bubble  rolling 
on  the  carpet.  He  was  highly  interested,  but  could  not 
make  up  his  mind  whether  or  not  the  thing  was  living, 
but  after  some  hesitation  he  overcame  his  misgivings, 
approached  cautiously,  and  touched  the  soap  bubble 
with  his  paw.  "  The  bubble,  of  course,  burst  at  once, 
and  I  never  saw  astonishment  more  unmistakably  ex- 
pressed.'^  f 

Eimer  gives  an  instance  of  the  curiosity  of  cows: 
'^  As  soon  as  I  had  my  easel  and  sketchbook  arranged 
the  cows  grazing  about  drew  nearer  and  nearer,  and 
stood  in  a  circle  around  me,  motionless  and  with  necks 
outstretched,  gazing  at  my  paper  as  if  to  see  what  was 
going  on.  Finally,  they  came  so  near  as  to  be  annoying, 
and  I  was  forced  to  drive  them  away  with  my  stick. 
But  again  and  again  they  renewed  their  attempt  to 
penetrate  the  secret."  % 

Anschiitz  has  portrayed  the  curiosity  of  horses  in 
a  very  successful  instantaneous  photograph.  As  the 
photographer  kneels  on  the  ground  busied  with  his 
camera,  a  number  of  loose  horses  surround  him,  press- 
ing close  and  stretching  their  long  necks  inquiringly  to- 
ward the  strange  objects.    Scheitlin  says  of  goats:  "No 


*  Thierseelenkimde,  ii,  p.  342. 

+  Romanes,  ^Fental  Evolution  in  Animals,  p.  157. 

X  G.  H.  Th.  Eimer,  Die  Entstehung  der  Arten,  1888,  i,  p.  258. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  217 

single  animal  has  more  curiosity,  unless  it  be  the  poodle. 
When  a  flock  of  goats  is  driven  through  a  village,  one 
and  another  will  go  into  the  houses,  even  into  the  rooms, 
and  look  about  without  concerning  himself  as  to  where 
the  others  are  gone.  He  climbs  over  whatever  he  can, 
from  mere  curiosity,  and  sometimes  goes  to  the  second 
or  third  story  of  a  house."  *  And  the  chamois  is  just 
as  bad ;  they  can  be  captured  as  can  gazelles,  by  the  dis- 
play of  a  new  or  strange  object,  which  so  excites  their 
curiosity  that  they  forget  the  danger.  Lloyd  Morgan 
reports  of  his  cat :  "  My  cat  was  asleep  on  a  chair  and 
my  little  son  began  blowing  a  toy  horn.  The  cat,  with- 
out moving,  mewed  uneasily.  I  told  my  boy  to  con- 
tinue blowing.  The  cat  grew  more  uneasy,  and  at  last 
got  up^  stretched  herself,  and  turned  toward  the  source 
of  the  discomfort.  She  stood  looking  at  my  boy  for  a 
minute  as  he  blew.  Then,  curling  herself  up,  went  to 
sleep  again,  and  no  amount  of  blowing  disturbed  her 
further."  f  The  animal  had  evidently  accepted  this 
new  impression,  and  was  satisfied  to  add  it  to  her  store 
of  ideas. 

A  Fraulein  Delaistre  had  a  tame  weasel,  of  which 
she  says,  among  other  things:  "A  notable  quality  of 
this  animal  is  its  curiosity.  If  I  open  a  trunk  or  a 
drawer  or  look  at  a  paper  he  must  come  and  look 
too."  X 

The  raccoon,  too,  is  "  curious  to  the  last  degree," 
says  Weinland;  of  the  one  that  has  been  described 
playing  with  a  badger  Beckmann  writes:  "  One  day  he 
was  too  severe  with  the  badger,  which  went  off  growl- 

*  Thierseelenkunde,  ii,  p.  207. 

f  Animal  Life  and  Intelligence,  p.  339. 

X  H.  O.  Lenz,  Gemeinniitzige  Naturgcschichte,  1851,  i,  p.  164. 


218  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

ing  and  rolled  into  his  hole.  After  a  time  he  put  his 
head  out  on  account  of  the  heat  and  went  to  sleep  thus 
intrenched.  The  mischievous  ^coon  saw  that  he  could 
not  expect  much  attention  from  his  friend  under  these 
circumstances,  and  was  about  to  set  out  for  home  when 
the  badger  suddenly  awoke  and  stretched  his  narrow 
red  mouth  wide  open.  This  so  surprised  our  hero  that 
he  turned  back  to  examine  the  rows  of  white  teeth 
from  every  point  of  view.  The  badger  continued  im- 
movable in  the  same  position,  and  this  excited  the  rac- 
coon's curiosity  to  the  highest  pitch;  at  last  he  ven- 
tured to  reach  out  and  tap  the  badger's  nose  with  his 
paw.  In  vain,  there  was  no  change.  This  behaviour 
of  his  comrade  was  inexplicable,  his  impatience  in- 
creased with  every  moment,  he  must  solve  the  riddle 
at  any  cost.  He  wandered  restlessly  about  for  a  while, 
apparently  undecided  how  best  to  pursue  the  investiga- 
tion; but  reaching  a  decision  at  last,  he  thrust  his 
pointed  snout  deep  in  the  badger's  open  jaws.  The 
rest  is  not  difficult  to  imagine.  The  jaws  closed,  the 
raccoon,  caught  in  the  trap,  squirmed  and  floundered 
like  a  captive  rat.  After  mighty  scuffling  and  tugging 
he  at  length  succeeded  in  tearing  his  bleeding  snout 
from  the  cruel  teeth  of  the  badger  and  fled  precipitately. 
This  lesson  lasted  a  long  time,  and  after  it  whenever 
he  went  near  the  badger's  kennel  he  involuntarily  put 
his  paw  over  his  nose." 

Mice  and  other  rodents  are  curious,*  and  so  are  all 
kinds  of  seals.  J.  E.  Tennent  describes  a  hunt  with 
tame  buffaloes  in  Ceylon.  If  they  are  turned  loose  at 
night  with  lights  fastened  to  their  backs  and  bells  hung 

*  See  Hudson  on  the  viscacha.  The  Naturalist  in  La  Plata, 
p.  298. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  219 

around  their  necks  all  sorts  of  wild  animals,  attracted 
by  curiosity,  come  to  look  at  them  and  are  cap- 
tured.* 

That  curiosity  is  a  play  closely  connected  with  some 
of  the  primary  instincts,  such  as  flight  and  feeding, 
seems  probable  from  the  fact  that  it  is  found  in  some 
of  the  lower  orders.  Indeed,  there  are  many  facts  in 
support  of  this  view.  Eimer  tells  us  that  the  boys  of 
Capri  take  advantage  of  the  curiosity  of  lizards  to  catch 
these  elusive  creatures.  "  They  make  a  slipknot  in  the 
pliable  end  of  a  long,  slender  straw  and,  lying  down, 
hold  the  straw  in  front  of  a  crevice  where  the  lizard 
has  just  disappeared.  Curiosity  so  torments  the  little 
creature  that  it  comes  nearer  and  nearer  to  examine 
the  knot,  until  the  boy  seizes  his  chance  to  slip  it  over 
the  head  and  secure  his  prize.  To  excite  their  curiosity 
the  boys  sometimes  make  their  noose  of  coloured  mem- 
brane and  wet  the  knot."  f  ^-  James  says  of  young 
crocodiles  that  swarmed  around  him  curiously,  that  they 
fled  terrified  at  the  slightest  movement,  but  came  back 
again  directly.;}; 

Romanes,  speaking  of  fish,  says:  "Curiosity  is 
shown  by  the  readiness,  or  even  eagerness,  with  which 
fish  will  approach  to  examine  any  unfamiliar  object. 
So  much  is  that  the  case  that  fishermen,  like  hunters, 
sometimes  trade  upon  this  faculty: 

'  And  the  fisher,  with  his  lamp 
And  spear,  about  the  low  rocks  damp 
Crept,  and  struck  the  fish  which  came 
To  worship  the  delusive  flame.'  "* 


*  J.  E.  Tennent,  Natural  History  of  Ceylon,  p.  oG. 
f  Eimer,  Die  Entstehung  der  Arten,  i,  p.  258. 
X  W.  James,  Principles  of  Psychology,  ii,  p.  429. 
«  Romanes,  Animal  Intelligence,  p.  247. 


220  THE   PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

It  is  a  familiar  fact  that  birds  and  fish  and  flying 
insects,  as  well  as  many  mammals,  are  attracted  by  fire. 
J.  S.  Gardener  noticed,  while  looking  at  an  island 
waterfall,  that  one  moth  after  another  hurled  itself  into 
the  cataract,  probably  attracted  by  the  glittering  water, 
as  others  are  by  flame.*  The  opinion  of  Eomanes, 
that  this  is  due  to  curiosity,!  will  hardly  be  contro- 
verted. 

Turning  now  to  birds,  we  may  characterize  them 
en  masse  as  curious,  so  much  so,  indeed,  that  many  of 
them  fall  victims  to  their  curiosity,  for  all  over  the 
world  hunters  lure  them  by  means  of  unfamiliar  ob- 
jects, which  they  approach  to  investigate.  On  islands 
uninhabited  by  man  they  will  come  up  to  the  first 
human  being  they  see  without  fear,  the  better  to  ob- 
serve him.  The  crow  family  in  particular  possess  this 
quality  in  excess;  if  a  cane  handle  or  almost  anything 
is  held  near  a  caged  raven  he  will  come  near  it  and 
examine  it  carefully  from  every  possible  point  of  view. 
Their  efforts  to  get  possession  of  and  hide  every- 
thing that  comes  in  their  way  are  further  manifesta- 
tions of  curiosity.  Parrots,  too,  behave  in  a  similar 
way.  Haast  says  that  the  curiosity  of  the  keanestor  im- 
pels them  to  examine  everything  that  comes  in  their 
way.  On  one  of  his  expeditions  in  the  mountains  he 
had  with  great  difficulty  collected  a  bundle  of  rare 
Alpine  plants  and  laid  them  for  a  moment  on  a  project- 
ing rock.  During  his  short  absence  a  keanestor  ex- 
amined the  collection  and  manifested  his  interest  in 
botanical  studies  by  pushing  the  whole  bundle  off  the 
rock,  never  to  be  recovered.     With  ravens,  as  well  as 


*  Nature,  vol.  xxv,  p.  436. 

f  Mental  Evolution  in  Animals,  p.  279. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  221 

parrots,  mental  experimentation  is  connected  with,  tlie 
physical,  especially  where  the  destructive  instinct  is 
concerned.  Paske  gives  in  the  Feathered  World  (1881) 
an  interesting  description  of  a  raven  that  he  brought 
up.  It  delighted  to  fly  into  strange  windows  and  do 
all  sorts  of  mischief.  He  once  entered,  in  this  way,  a 
room  in  the  opposite  house,  found  a  collection  of  curios 
that  had  been  left  out  of  their  case,  and  destroyed  most 
of  them.  He  showed  his  interest  in  the  boys'  ball 
games  by  stealing  and  hiding  the  ball.  The  following 
performance  of  his  might  have  inspired  Dickens  to  a 
special  chapter  in  Barnaby  Eudge:  "  One  day  he  en- 
tered, through  the  window,  a  room  where  a  military  trial 
was  being  conducted,  perching  on  the  desk  littered  with 
writing  materials  and  important  papers,  and  refusing 
to  be  dislodged.  He  threatened  with  his  bill  every  one 
who  approached  him,  until  I  was  sent  for  and  carried 
him  off." 

If  any  strange  object  is  held  in  a  canary's  cage  he 
w^ill  examine  it  with  great  interest,  turning  his  head 
first  to  one  side  and  then  the  other,  and  it  is  most  amus- 
ing to  see  the  little  creature  crane  his  neck  to  look 
down  at  something  under  his  cage,  while  he  keeps  up 
a  succession  of  questioning  peeps.  Key  had  a 
Carolina  parrot  which  was  so  tame  that  he  allowed  it 
to  fly  about  at  will,  much  to  the  wonder  and  excite- 
ment of  the  domestic  birds  when  this  foreigner  ap- 
peared among  them.  A  sparrow  was  "  so  fascinated  by 
the  gay  stranger  that  he  followed  the  parrot  about 
for  a  long  time,  sitting  near  it  and  gazing  till  the 
parrot  returned  to  the  window,  without  appearing 
to  notice  that  I  stood  with  a  friend  at  the  open  case- 
ment." 

The   starling,   the   robin,   the  nightingale,   the   sis- 


222  THE  PLAT  OF  ANIMALS. 

kin,  and  many  other  birds  have  a  great  deal  of  curi- 
osity.* 

Last,  I  may  mention  the  vulture,  which  is  noticeable 
for  this  quality  when  young  and  will  come  near  any  one 
who  displays  a  new  and  attractive  object.  Brehm's 
brother,  in  Spain,  placed  an  owl  in  the  vultures'  cage, 
and  describes  the  curiosity  with  which  the  occupants 
examined  the  newcomer.  One  young  vulture  ap- 
proached the  bird  of  night  as  it  sat  sulking  in  a  corner, 
looked  him  over  and  began  an  examination  of  his 
feathers,  an  impertinence  to  which  the  owl  responded 
with  a  sharp  blow  from  his  claw. 

In  most  of  these  examples  the  animal  is  represented 
as  seeing  a  new  object  and  trying  to  find  out  what  sort 
of  thing  it  is — curiosity  is  expressed  by  approaching  it, 
looking  it  over,  tasting,  etc.  All  this  leads  us  again 
to  the  question  whether  animals  may  not  have  a  kind  of 
aesthetic  perception.  The  case  is  quite  different  with 
these  successive  impressions  from  that  of  the  coloured 
feathers  and  stones  which  they  collect,  for  it  is  an  estab- 
lished fact,  as  has  been  said,  that  among  animals  motion 
is  more  provocative  of  attention  than  anything  else. 
Further,  it  is  evident  that  imitative  impulse  is  more 
easily  awakened  by  movement  than  by  any  attribute 
of  a  body  at  rest.  Accordingly,  if  that  "  inner  imi- 
tation "  that  characterizes  aesthetic  perception  can  ap- 
pear anywhere  in  animal  life  it  may  be  looked  for  as  a 
consequence  of  the  observation  of  the  motions  of  other 
animals,  preferably  individuals  of  the  same  species. 
Under  the  heading  of  imitative  play  it  was  shown  that 
such  movements  do  produce  external  imitation;  so  it 


*  Naturgeschichte  der  Vogel  Deutschlands,  iv,  p.  16 ;  ii,  pp. 
197,  203. 


THE  PLAY  OP  ANIMALS.  223 

would  appear  that  the  animal,  though  aware  of  the 
stimulation  to  external  imitation  from  optical  and  acous- 
tic impressions,  is  able  to  hold  it  in  check  so  that  an 
internal  excitation  alone  is  produced  by  the  imitative 
impulse,  whose  reflex  in  consciousness  consists  of     feel- 
ings of  imitation."     In  order  to  illustrate  my  concep- 
tion of  the  origin  of  such  aesthetic  feeling  I  venture  to 
cite  a  progressive  series  of  examples  from  human  life. 
A  boy  on  the  streets  sees  some  other  boys  chasing  a 
comrade  in  play;   he  looks  on  for  a  few  seconds,  his 
interest  constantly  increasing,  until  he  joins  the  pur- 
suers     These  few  seconds  of  observation  I  regard  as  the 
primary  form  of  esthetic  perception  directed  toward 
the  movements  that  incite  his  impulse   of  imitation, 
for  there  is  an  inner  imitation  as  an  antecedent  or 
point  of  departure  for  the  outer.     A  boy  takes  part  m 
a  game  involving  complicated  movements.    He  is  taken 
prisoner  by  the  opposing  party  and  must  stand  m  a  base 
until  one  of  his  own  side  frees  him.     ^Esthetic  percep- 
tion is  manifest  in  the  absorbed  attention  with  which 
he  enters  into  all  the  movements  of  his  companions, 
for    while  his  impulse  to  external  imitation  is  so  far 
arrested  by  the  laws  of  the  game  that  it  can  not  attain 
its  object  at  once,  this  result  follows  as  soon  as  the  boy 
is  at  liberty  to  move  from  the  base.— Suppose  some 
witnesses  of  a  race.    Here  the  impulse  to  active  imita- 
tion does  not  tend  to  external  discharge.     No  one  tries 
to  leave  his  seat,  but  contents  himself  with  expressing 
the  feelings  produced  by  internal  imitation  of  the  vary- 
ing operations.     Here  we  have  the  simplest  and  most 
primary  form  of  pure  esthetic  perception.— We  are  sit- 
ting in  the  theatre,  the  simulated  actions  and  tones  ot 
voice  are  only  the  means  of  appealing  to  our  sympathy 
and  placing  us  mentally  in  touch  with  what  is  being 


224  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

played  on  the  stage,  and  yet  our  facial  expression  cor- 
responds in  a  certain  degree  with  that  of  the  actor. — Or 
suppose  we  are  merely  listening  to  a  recital,  we  still 
feel  all  the  sympathetic  passion  that  words  can  pro- 
duce. Indeed,  the  mere  reading  of  a  narrative  is  suffi- 
cient to  produce  that  internal  effect  of  imitation  which 
consists  in  aesthetic  pleasure.  Don  Quixote  shows  us 
how  strong  this  impulse  may  be  when  he  tries  to  realize 
the  ideal  which  he  has  formed  by  reading.  It  is  illus- 
trated, too,  by  boys  who  read  of  a  seaman's  life  till  they 
can  not  be  restrained  from  adopting  his  calling  with 
all  its  hardships  and  dangers;  by  the  suicides  that  have 
resulted  from  reading  The  Sorrows  of  Werther;  and  by 
the  mystical  religious  life  of  saints,  and  the  stigmata 
produced  by  auto-suggestion  in  many  ecstatic  fanatics. 
All  these  are  externalized  effects  of  aesthetic  emotion. 

A  glance  over  these  illustrations  shows  at  once  that 
those  effects  depending  on  the  power  of  speech  can  not, 
of  course,  be  attributed  to  animals,  but  that  the  cases 
of  the  boys  at  play  are  probably  equally  well  applicable 
to  them.  All  consciously  imitative  play  must  be  pre- 
ceded by  that  primary  form  of  agsthetic  perception 
which  we  have  called  ^'  inner  imitation,"  as,  for  ex- 
ample, when  the  monkey  mimics  his  master,  or  when 
the  starling,  with  head  on  one  side,  listens  attentively 
to  an  air  whistled  in  his  presence.  But,  on  the  other 
hand,  there  are  plenty  of  examples  of  attentive  watching 
and  listening  without  any  external  imitation.  Most 
conspicuous  in  this  class  is  the  hearkening  of  the  female 
bird  to  the  song  of  the  male.  It  can  not  be  questioned 
that  she  experiences  an  internal  sympathy  with  his  ex- 
citement, for  sometimes  this  feeling  is  so  strong  as  to 
require  some  kind  of  outward  expression,  and  she  joins, 
though    imperfectly,    in    the    song    of    the    male,    and 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  225 

sometimes  even  takes  part  in  his  battles.  A  description 
already  quoted  says:  *'  Sometimes  a  female  is  found  on 
the  arena  taking  up  a  position  like  that  of  the  males 
and  running  about  with  them;  but  she  does  not  long 
mingle  in  the  strife,  and  soon  runs  away."  No  clearer 
proof  could  be  desired  that  the  female  feels  a  secret 
sympathy  in  the  love-plays  carried  on  before  her,  for 
in  such  a  case  it  evidently  clamours  for  expression 
until  the  impulse  to  join  in  the  song  or  dance  is  irresist- 
ible, as  in  the  orgies  described  by  Middendorf.  Many 
birds  arrange  a  regular  stage  or  arena.  Hudson  says: 
"  There  are  human  dances  in  which  only  one  person 
performs  at  a  time,  the  rest  of  the  company  looking 
on,  and  some  birds  in  widely  separated  genera  have 
dances  of  this  kind.  A  striking  example  is  the  rupicola, 
or  cock-of-the-rock,  of  tropical  South  America.  A 
mossy  level  spot  of  earth  surrounded  by  bushes  is  se- 
lected for  a  dancing  place,  and  kept  well  cleared  of 
sticks  and  stones;  round  this  area  the  birds  assemble, 
when  a  cockbird,  with  vivid  orange-scarlet  crest  and 
plumage,  steps  into  it,  and  with  spreading  wings  and 
tail  begins  a  series  of  movements  as  if  dancing  a  minuet; 
finally,  carried  away  with  excitement,  he  leaps  and 
gyrates  in  the  most  astonishing  manner,  until,  becom- 
ing exhausted,  he  retires,  and  another  bird  takes  his 
place."  * 

There  are  examples  on  record,  too,  that  seem  to  in- 
dicate that  some  of  the  higher  animals  observe  the 
movements  of  others  than  their  own  kind  with  a  sort 
of  aesthetic  perception.  The  most  familiar  of  these  is 
that  of  a  dog  looking  out  of  a  window.  Schopenhauer 
considered  this  critical  watching  of  passersby  that  can 

*  The  Naturalist  in  La  Plata,  p.  261. 


226  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

have  no  other  intent  than  that  of  taking  note  of  the  va- 
rious figures  on  the  street  as  the  most  human  quality  dis- 
played by  animals.  It  is  certainly  comical  to  see  a  big 
dog  with  his  forepaws  on  the  window-sill  gazing,  for  it 
may  be  half  an  hour,  just  as  a  man  would  do,  with 
thoughtful,  wrinkled  brow,  into  the  street. 

But  other  animals,  too,  do  the  same  sort  of  thing. 
A  forester  in  Wiirtemberg  had  a  tame  doe,  of  which, 
among  other  things,  he  relates  the  following:  "  She 
likes  to  stand  on  the  window-sill  and  watch  what  is 
passing  outside.'^  * 

Among  monkeys  the  Cerocehus  alhigena,  a  rather 
large  black  xA^frican  ape,  may  be  instanced.  Pechuel- 
Loesche  has  described  it  in  detail:  "  But  he  was  drollest 
when  some  new  problem  exercised  his  busy  brain,  as 
w^hen  w^e  used  the  astronomical  instruments  before  him 
or  carried  on  some  unusual  operation.  He  would  sit 
on  the  ground  or  a  trunk  or  barrel  in  the  attitude  of  a 
deeply  reflecting  man,  one  hand  holding  his  chin  up 
and  a  finger  pressed  on  his  lips,  while  he  followed  our 
every  movement,  softly  humming  or  grunting,  and  oc- 
casionally indulging  in  one  of  the  philippics  already 
described.^^  (This  species  has  a  very  loud  characteris- 
tic roar.)'t  A.  Glinzel  contributes  this  about  a  tame 
magpie:  "At  the  time  of  the  morning  recess  he  re- 
paired to  the  playground  of  the  school  children,  gener- 
ally that  of  the  boys,  to  watch  their  romps.  At  these 
times  he  expressed  his  satisfaction  by  jumping  about 
and  snapping  his  beak."  \ 

The  following  story  is  told  of  a  goose:  "  Some  years 

*  Diezels,  Niederjagd,  p.  145. 
\  Loango  Expedition,  iii.  p.  248. 

X  Die  gefiederte  Welt,  1887.  See  K.  Russ,  Allerlei  sprechendes 
gefiedertes  Volk,  p.  74. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  227 

ago  a  goose  excited  considerable  attention  in  a  small 
town  by  its  strange  actions.  Whenever  the  parish  clerk 
came  from  the  market  with  his  great  bell,  as  was  the  cus- 
tom, to  make  a  proclamation,  a  black  and  white  goose 
left  the  flocks  assembled  at  the  brook  and  waddled  has- 
tily toward  the  circle  of  listening  peasants.  There  she 
stood  immovable  all  through  the  ceremony,  with  head 
outstretched  as  though  she  would  parody  the  attentive 
attitude  of  the  other  auditors,  until  the  bell  was  taken 
up.  At  this  moment  she  set  out  to  follow  the  officer 
to  the  next  street,  where  she  again  took  the  listening 
attitude,  and  in  this  way  accompanied  the  man  all 
over  the  widespread  town,  only  seeking  her  companions 
at  the  brook  when  he  returned  to  his  office.  This  habit 
was  kept  up  for  many  months."  *  The  famous  parrot 
belonging  to  Director  Kastner,  in  Vienna,  always  no- 
ticed when  a  bottle  was  about  to  be  uncorked,  and  imi- 
tated the  pop  before  it  came,  showing  absorbed  attention 
and  anticipation.! 

Two  points  of  psychological  interest  are  still  to  be 
noted.  When  I  spoke  of  aesthetic  attention,  I  did  not 
mean  to  imply  that  aesthetic  pleasure  consists  in  con- 
scious acts  of  attention,  the  word  being  used  in  the 
ordinary  sense.  If,  for  example,  the  female  bird  wit- 
nessing the  performance  of  the  males  once  attained  to 
apperception,  no  doubt  the  imitative  impulse  would  be 
roused  just  as  wdth  ourselves,  without  the  conscious 
effort  of  attention.  The  question  whether  there  may 
not  be  a  constant  unconscious  anticipation  may  be  an- 
swered affirmatively  on  various  grounds,  but  this  is  not 
the  place  to  explain  them.     Secondly,   it  may  be  re- 

*  Der  zonloeiische  Garten,  vii.  p.  238. 

f  K.  Russ.  Die  sprechenden  Papageien,  1887,  p.  29. 


228  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

marked  that  while  the  foregoing  examples,  of  whose 
aesthetic  character  I  have  no  doubt  whatever,  should  be 
looked  upon  as  only  elementary  expressions  of  aesthetic 
pleasure,  they  yet  serve  to  show  that  the  sphere  of  aes- 
thetics is  infinitely  wider  than  that  of  the  beautiful. 


CHAPTEE  lY. 

THE  PLAY  OF  axi:mals  (continued). 

Love  Plays. 

The  treatment  of  this  class  of  plays  in  a  separate 
chapter  is  justified  not  only  on  the  ground  of  its  impor- 
tance to  animal  psychology,  but  also  for  two  reasons 
inherent  in  its  nature.  The  first  of  these  reasons  is  that 
it  embraces  the  vexed  question  of  sexual  selection,  and 
the  second  reason  is  that  this  kind  of  play  differs  from 
all  that  we  have  previously  considered  in  being,  strictly 
speaking,  not  mere  practice  preparatory  to  the  exercise 
of  an  instinct,  but  rather  its  actual  working.  Yet  it  is 
universally  spoken  of  as  plaj^  and  consequently  our  first 
question  is.  How  far  is  this  designation  correct? 

In  considering  it  we  are  at  once  brought  face  to 
face  with  the  problem  of  sexual  selection,  for  Darwin 
regards  all  phenomena  connected  with  love  play  as  the 
direct  result  of  the  operations  of  this,  his  second  great 
principle  of  evolution.  Sexual  selection,  then,  involves 
two  distinct  phenomena:  on  the  one  hand  the  conflict 
between  m^ales  for  the  possession  of  a  female,  and  on 
the  other  hand  the  preference  of  the  latter  for  certain 
qualities  or  capacities  in  the  former.  Each  of  these 
phenomena  is  supposed  to  produce  its  own  effect  in  the 
modification   of   characters.     The   first,   being   only   a 

229 


230  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

special  case  of  natural  selection,  is  challenged  by  no 
one.  The  selective  principle  involved  in  the  second  is 
not  the  mechanical  law  of  survival  of  the  fittest,  but 
rather  the  will  of  a  living,  feeling  being  capable  of  mak- 
ing a  choice,  and  is  much  like  that  employed  in  arti- 
ficial breeding.  Spencer  has  spoken  of  natural  selec- 
tion as  a  "  survival  of  the  fittest,'^  and  a  fitting  designa- 
tion of  this  theory  of  sexual  selection  would  be  "  a  mul- 
tiplication of  the  most  pleasing." 

Let  us  take  an  example.  The  male  cicada  has 
on  one  wing  a  vein  set  with  fine  teeth,  on  which  he 
fiddles  with  the  other  wing.  Only  males  can  produce 
this  music.  "  The  ancient  Greeks  knew  this,  for  Anac- 
reon  congratulated  the  cicadas,  in  a  poem  that  has  come 
down  to  us,  because  they  had  dumb  wives.''  "  Here  is 
the  key  to  the  riddle.  The  origin  of  the  musical  appa- 
ratus is  easily  explained  by  means  of  the  male's  rivalry. 
If  we  assume  that  the  females  enjoy  the  music — and  it 
has  been  proved  that  they  do — then  we  see  why  and 
how  a  singing  instrument  was  gradually  developed 
from  the  male's  wings  and  has  been  improved  to  its 
present  perfection,  for  the  female  would  always  pre- 
fer the  male  that  sang  best.  Thus  the  superior  musical 
apparatus  of  the  father  would  be  inherited  by  his  sons, 
and  so  on.  In  this  way  there  must  necessarily  be  much 
progress  in  the  developrfient  of  this  function  in  the 
course  of  several  generations,  the  preference  of  better 
singers  constantly  tending  to  improve  the  singing  ap- 
paratus until  it  can  be  improved  no  further."  *  In  the 
same  way  the  musical  performances  of  birds,  the  arts 
of  flying  and  dancing,  the  strange  and  beautiful  colours 

*  A.  Wei^:in<ann.  Gednnken  iiber  Musik  bei  Thieren  und  beim 
Merxschen,  Deutsche  Rundschau,  Ixi  (1880),  p.  51. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  231 

and  forms,  are  all  to  be  considered  as  "  wedding  gar- 
ments/^ so  to  speak. 

But  many  voices  worthy  of  attention  have  been 
raised  against  this  theory  of  a  choice  of  the  most  pleas- 
ing by  the  female.  \Yallace  takes  the  lead  in  this  oppo- 
sition, and  many  scientists  agree  with  him  either  wholly 
or  in  part.  I  may  mention  Tylor,*  Spencer, f  TTal- 
laschek4  Hudson,*  Lloyd  Morgan.  || 

Wallace  has  expressed  his  view  in  various  of  his 
works,  the  most  important  being  the  Natural  Selection 
and  the  Darwinism,  that  Darwin's  assumption  of  a  kind 
of  sesthetic  taste  in  the  female  governing  her  choice  is 
as  far  from  the  truth  as  is  the  assumption  that  the  bee 
is  a  good  mathematician.  But  more  than  that,  he  main- 
tains that  it  is  by  no  means  certain  that  the  female 
makes  any  choice  at  all.  "  Any  one  who  reads  these 
most  interesting  chapters  (in  Darwin's  Descent  of  Man) 
will  admit  that  the  fact  of  the  display  is  demonstrated, 
and  it  may  also  be  admitted  as  highly  probable  that  the 
female  is  pleased  or  excited  by  the  display.  But  it  by 
no  means  follows  that  slight  diiferences  in  the  shape, 
pattern,  or  colours  of  the  ornamental  plumes  are  what 
lead  a  female  to  give  the  preference  to  one  male  over 
another;  still  less  that  all  the  females  of  a  species,  or  the 
great  majority  of  them,  over  a  wide  area  of  country 
and  for  many  successive  generations,  prefer  exactly  the 
same  modifications  of  colour  or  ornament."''' 


*  Alfred  Tylor,  Coloration  of  Plants  and  Animals,  London, 
1886. 

t  The  Origin  of  Music,  Mind,  xv  (1890). 
t  On  the  Origin  of  Music,  Mind,  xvi  (1891). 

*  The  Naturalist  in  La  Plata,  chap.  xix. 

H  Lloyd  Morgan,  Animal  Life  and  Intelligence,  p.  407. 
^  A.  R.  Wallace,  Darwinism,  p.  285. 
17 


232  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

But  we  ask,  What  then  is  the  cause  of  these  phe- 
nomena, if  there  is  no  choice  by  the  female?  How  do 
the  beautiful  colours  and  characteristic  forms  of  male 
birds  arise?  "Wallace  answers  these  questions  as  fol- 
lows: In  the  first  place,  it  is  not  at  all  strange  that  ani- 
mals should  have  colour.  In  all  Nature  colour  is  the 
rule,  black  and  white  are  exceptions.*  "  The  presence  of 
some  colour,  or  even  of  many  brilliant  colours,  in  ani- 
mals and  plants  would  require  no  other  explanation 
than  does  that  of  the  sky  or  the  ocean,  of  the  ruby  or 
the  emerald — that  is,  it  would  require  a  purely  physical 
explanation  only.^'  f  The  kind  of  colours,  however,  is 
principally  determined  by  natural  selection.  Colouring 
for  offence  and  defence  is  very  important  in  the  animal 
world,  a  principle  which  was  clearly  recognised  before 
the  time  of  this  misleading  idea  of  sexual  selection. 
Other  peculiarities,  such  as  broad  white  bands  and  white 
or  coloured  spots, J  serve  as  distinguishing  marks  to 
those  that  live  in  companies.* 

These  marks  are  important  not  only  in  times  of 
danger,  when  they  make  it  easier  for  the  young  to  fol- 
low the  old  ones,  but  they  also  form  a  kind  of  bond 
for  the  social  life,  and  in  addition  to  that  probably  serve 
a  useful  purpose  in  hindering  the  cross-breeding  of 
closely  related  species.  The  symmetrical  marking  which 
renders  the  individual  recognisable  from  either  side 
seems  to  be  for  this  purpose,  as  we  conclude  from  the 
facility  with  which  it  is  lost  in  domestication.  To  the 
same  origin  may  be  attributed  the  characteristic  call 

*  Nat.  Selection  and  Trop.  Nature,  1891,  p.  859. 
•f  Darwinism,  p.  189. 

X  Many  such  marks  are  only  visible  while  the  animal  is  in  mo- 
tion, bemuse  they  would  expose  it  to  danger  when  at  rest  (ibid,). 

*  Like  the  tribal  marks  of  savaores. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  233 

of  the  male  and  the  f emale^s  answering  cry.  "  These  are 
evidently  a  valuable  addition  to  the  means  of  recogni- 
tion of  the  two  sexes,  and  are  a  further  indication  that 
the  pairing  season  has  arrived;  and  the  production,  in- 
tensification, and  differentiation  of  these  sounds  and 
odours  are  clearly  within  the  power  of  natural  selection. 
The  same  remark  will  apply  to  the  peculiar  calls  of 
birds,  and  even  to  the  singing  of  the  males.  These 
may  well  have  originated  merely  as  a  means  of  recogni- 
tion between  the  two  sexes  of  a  species  and  as  an  invi- 
tation from  the  male  to  the  female  bird.  When  the 
individuals  of  a  species  are  widely  scattered,  such  a  call 
must  be  of  great  importance  in  enabling  pairing  to  take 
place  as  early  as  possible,  and  thus  the  clearness,  loud- 
ness, and  individuality  of  the  song  becomes  a  useful 
character,  and  therefore  the  subject  of  natural  selec- 
tion." *  Thus  sexual  selection  would  be  absorbed  in 
natural  selection,  and  Wallace  advances  two  principles  to 
assist  in  the  absorption.  Many  characteristic  markings 
and  decorative  colourings  are,  according  to  A.  Tylor, 
closely  connected  with  anatomical  structure.  Since  the 
clearest  colours  show  where  the  most  important  nerves 
run,  their  intersections  form  all  sorts  of  figures.  And 
"  as  the  nerves  everywhere  follow  the  muscles,  and  these 
are  attached  to  the  various  bones,  we  see  how  it  happens 
that  the  tracts  in  which  distinct  developments  of  colour 
appear  should  so  often  be  marked  out  by  the  chief  di- 
visions of  the  bony  structure  in  vertebrates,  and  by  the 
segments  in  the  annulosa."  t 

*  Darwinism,  p.  284.  We  see  here  how  Wallace  came  to  change 
his  mind  about  instinct. 

f  Ibid.,  p.  290.  Tylor,  for  instance,  finds  in  the  zebra's  stripes 
a  picture  of  the  spine  and  ribs.  But  why,  then,  is  the  symmetry 
so  soon  lost  in  domestication? 


234  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

If,  then,  colouring  is  connected  with  nerve  distri- 
bution it  must  be  largely  dependent  on  good  health, 
and  brilliant  colour  becomes  an  indication  of  robust 
health.  This  is  true  also  of  other  kinds  of  external  or- 
namentation, especially  of  the  size  of  the  tail.  The  per- 
fect adaptation  of  animals  to  their  environment  pro- 
duces in  them  a  superabundance  of  vigour  which  con- 
tributes to  the  size  and  brilliance  of  plumage  that 
we  admire  in  such  birds  as  the  pheasant,  parrot,  hum- 
ming bird,  etc.  To  the  question  why  this  is  the  case 
with  males  alone  it  may  be  answered  that  the  female 
has  the  greater  need  of  protection.  This  view  is  sup- 
ported by  the  fact  that  in  general,  female  birds  of  those 
species  that  have  well-protected  nests  are  as  brightly 
coloured  as  the  males. 

Wallace  applies  this  principle  to  skill  in  flight  and 
dancing  as  well  as  to  ornamentation,  the  same  prin- 
ciple of  superabundant  energy  which  we  found  in  the 
Schiller-Spencer  theory  of  play.  "  The  display  of  these 
plumes  will  result  from  the  same  causes  which  led  to 
their  production.  Just  in  proportion  as  the  feathers 
themselves  increased  in  length  and  abundance,  the  skin 
muscles  which  serve  to  elevate  them  would  increase  also; 
and  the  nervous  development,  as  well  as  the  supply  of 
blood  to  these  being  at  a  maximum,  the  erection  of  the 
plumes  would  become  a  habit  at  all  periods  of  nerv- 
ous or  sexual  excitement."  ..."  During  excitement 
and  when  the  organism  develops  superabundant  energy, 
many  animals  find  it  pleasurable  to  exercise  their  vari- 
ous muscles,  often  in  fantastic  ways,  as  seen  in  the  gam- 
bols of  kittens,  lambs,  and  other  young  animals.  But 
at  the  time  of  pairing  male  birds  are  in  a  state  of  tlie 
most  perfect  development,  and  possess  an  enormous 
store  of  vitality;  and  under  the  excitement  of  the  sexual 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  235 

passion  they  perform  strange  antics  or  rapid  flights,  as 
much  probably  from  the  internal  impulse  to  motion 
and  exertion  as  with  any  desire  to  please  their  mates/'  * 

The  act  of  singing,  too,  which  was  originally  a  means 
of  recognition,  "  is  evidently  a  pleasurable  one,  and  it 
probably  serves  as  an  outlet  for  superabundant  nerv- 
ous energy  and  excitement,  just  as  dancing,  singing, 
and  field  sports  do  with  us."  f 

These  are  the  essentials  of  Wallace's  theory.  Se- 
lection through  the  female  is  excluded;  at  the  most  he 
thinks  we  may  say  that  she  prefers  the  "  most  vigour- 
ous,  defiant,  and  mettlesome  male,"  and  so  indirectly 
favours  the  ornamentation  which  results  from  abundant 
energy. 

In  this  presentation  of  Wallace's  theory  I  have 
maintained  a  careful  distinction  which  is  not  made 
clear  in  his  own  works,  but  without  which  it  is  difficult, 
in  my  opinion,  to  understand  thoroughly  the  meaning  of 
his  ideas.  I  mean  the  distinction  between  the  biological 
principles  that  would  refer  our  problem  to  the  familiar 
operations  of  natural  selection,  and  such  physiological 
theories  as  those  of  Tylor  and  Spencer.  The  former 
are  of  the  greatest  value,  and  will  lead,  I  believe,  to  im- 
portant modifications  of  the  Darwinian  system,  while 
in  the  latter  there  is  no  inherent  vitality,  though  Wal- 
lace seems  to  lay  great  stress  on  them. 

Turning  now  to  the  secondary  aspect  of  this  theory, 
we  set  out  from  the  fact  that  the  characteristic  marks 
and  appendages  of  animals  are  closely  connected  with 
their  anatomical  structure,  just  as,  in  a  common  disease, 
an  eruption  occurs  on  the  forehead  which  corresponds 
exactly  to  the  distribution  of  the  ophthalmic  division  of 


*  Ibid.,  pp.  294  and  287.  t  Ibid.,  p.  284. 


236  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

the  fifth  cranial  nerve.  Supposing  this  to  be  a  fact, 
still  nothing  has  been  said  that  is  prejudicial  to  the 
theory  of  sexual  selection — it  must  necessarily  have 
some  sort  of  physiological  basis.  However,  I  for  one 
can  not  quite  conceive  how  such  developments  as,  for 
instance,  a  peacock's  tail,  can  be  derived  from  begin- 
nings so  insignificant,  simply  by  a  superabundance  of 
energy.  This  is  very  delicate  ground,  for  the  hypotlie- 
sis  of  surplus  energy  continuing  through  thousands  of 
generations  seems  to  me  to  accord  little  with  the  laws  of 
natural  selection,  which  are  like  the  old  laAvs  of  reward: 
they  give  with  niggardly  hand  what  is  essential  for  the 
preservation  of  the  species  and  no  more.* 

However,  Wallace  thinks  that  such  extraordinary 
developments  occur  only  when  the  species  has  acquired 
an  assured  position  in  life — in  fact,  "  perfect  success  in 
the  struggle  for  existence.  .  .  .  The  enormously  length- 
ened plumes  of  the  bird  of  paradise  and  of  the  peacock 
are  rather  injurious  than  beneficial  in  the  bird's  ordi- 
nary life.  The  fact  that  they  have  been  developed 
to  so  great  an  extent  in  a  few  species  is  an  indication 
of  such  perfect  adaptation  to  the  conditions  of  exist- 
ence, that  there  is  in  the  adult  male  at  all  events  a 
surplus  of  strength,  vitality,  and  growth  power,  wdiich 
is  able  to  expend  itself  in  this  way  without  injury.^^  f 

But  it  is  a  well-known  fact  and  a  legitimate  deduc- 
tion from  the  principle  of  selection  that  such  perfect 
adaptation  to  surrounding  conditions  produces  a  fixed 
type  and  precludes  further  development,  just  in  propor- 
tion to  its  perfection.     Thus,  even  if  we  suppose  that 


*  The  occasional  surplus  of  energy  arising  from  alternate  waste 
and  reintegration  is.  of  course,  quite  another  thing, 
f  Ibid.,  pp.  292,  293. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  237 

the  ancestors  of  the  peacocks,  from  the  time  when  they 
attained  a  certain  assurance  of  existence,  were  constant- 
ly in  possession  of  surplus  energy  that  favoured  the 
production  of  strong  (and  useless)  feathers,  it  is  yet  in- 
explicable how  a  still  further  development  was  attained, 
such  as  Wallace  indicates.  That  such  hindrances  should 
arise  before  adaptation  is  out  of  the  question,  and  it 
seems  hardly  possible  after  it,  without  the  aid  of  sexual 
selection,  for  we  see  that  success  attained  in  the  strug- 
gle for  life  prevents  Nature  from  further  directing 
the  growing  energies.  The  contest  of  males  in  which 
the  strongest  have  the  advantage  would  then  come 
prominent  forward  as  the  only  possible  explanation. 
Wallace,  however,  has  but  cursorily  referred  to  this 
principle  and  rightly,  as  I  believe,  for  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  see  how  selection  acting  through  the  contests 
of  courtship  could  directly  favor  the  development 
of  such  peculiarities,  since  we  can  hardly  suppose 
that  surplus  energy  would  find  its  only  expression  in 
them. 

Perhaps  Wallace  recognised  this  difficulty  when  he 
wTote,  "  As  all  the  evidence  goes  to  show  that,  so  far 
as  female  birds  exercise  any  choice,  it  is  of  the  ^  most 
vigorous,  defiant,  and  mettlesome '  males,  this  form  of 
sexual  selection  will  act  in  the  same  direction  (as  natu- 
ral selection),  and  help  to  carry  on  the  process  of  plume 
development  to  its  culmination."  * 

With  these  words,  however  hypothetical  their  form, 
Wallace  overturns  his  whole  argument,  for  if  it  is  once 
admitted  that  the  female  chooses  the  strongest  male, 
the  chief  point  of  the  Darwinian  theory  is  conceded. 
Whether  her  preference   is   for  strength  and  courage 

*  Ibid.,  p.  293. 


238  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

or  for  beauty  is  of  little  consequence;  the  important 
tiling  is  that  a  choice  is  made. 

Wallace's  further  deductions  from  the  arts  of  dan- 
cing, flying,  and  singing  will  not  detain  us  long.  It  is 
pretty  well  established  that  bird  songs  are  inherited,  gen- 
erally speaking,  and  it  seems  quite  as  certain,  if  not  more 
so,  that  characteristic  dances  and  skill  in  flight  have  the 
same  origin.  Hudson  says :  "  But  every  species  or 
group  of  species  has  its  own  inherited  form  or  style  of 
performance ;  and  however  rude  or  irregular  this  may  be, 
.  .  .  that  is  the  form  in  which  the  feeling  will  always 
be  expressed.'' * 

If  this  is  true,  mere  surplus  energy  in  the  individual 
can  not  explain  it.  Of  course  the  Lamarckian  theory 
has  no  trouble  with  it.  Its  advocates  can  say  with 
Hudson,  "  If  all  men  had  agreed  at  some  period  of 
race  history  to  express  the  joyful  excitement  which  now 
has  such  varied  manifestation,  by  dancing  a  minuet, 
and  if  this  dance  had  finally  become  instinctive,  men 
would  be  in  the  same  case  that  animals  are  in  now.'''t 
But  Wallace  is  very  sceptical  about  the  inheritance  of 
acquired  characters,  and  takes  special  pains  to  refer 
instinct  finally  to  natural  selection.^  AVhoever  agrees 
with  him  in  this  must  cast  aside  his  Spencerian  theory 
of  courtship,  for  it  stands  or  falls  with  the  Lamarckian 
principle.  Once  grant  that  there  is  no  inheritance  of 
individually  acquired  habits,  and  that  choice  by  the 
female  is  not  influential,  then  these  phenomena,  which 
are  of  too  great  importance  to  the  species  to  be  dismissed 
as  a  mere  discharge  of  surplus  energy,  however  favour- 

*  The  Naturalist  in  La  Plata,  p.  281. 

f  This  example  is  well  calculated  to  show  how  improbable  the 
inheritance  of  acquired  characters  is. 
X  Darwinism,  p.  441. 


THE   PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  239 

able  that  condition  may  be  for  tliem,  must  be  referred 
at  once  to  natural  selection.* 

The  case  is  quite  different,  as  I  have  remarked,  with 
the  first  element  of  Wallace's  theory.  Here  the  gifted 
author  advances  his  original  ideas  and  reaches  conclu- 
sions which  are  calculated,  in  my  opinion,  to  seriously 
modify  the  Darwinian  theory  of  sexual  selection.  Tak- 
ing, as  an  example,  the  parrot  which  is  commonly  of  a 
green  ground  colour  with  stripes  of  yellow,  red,  and 
blue,  Wallace  would  say  that  through  adaptation  to 
life  in  the  woods  the  green  colour  serves  as  a  defence, 
while  the  stripes  are  distinguishing  marks  for  purposes 
of  recognition,  and  we  have  brilliant  plumage  explained 
satisfactorily  without  any  reference  to  sexual  selection, 
which  can  not,  then,  have  the  range  that  Darwin  at- 
tributes to  it  in  accounting  for  the  colouring  and  other 
ornamentation  of  animals. 

Quite  as  convincing,  too,  is  the  argument  against 
the  exercise  of  gesthetic  judgment,  comparison,  and  se- 
lection in  pairing.  I  am  even  inclined  to  go  further 
than  Wallace  and  exclude  the  conscious  choice  of  even 
the  strongest  and  bravest,  which  he  seems  disposed  to 
admit,  but  I  do  not  on  that  account  imagine  that  the 
Darwinian  hypothesis  is  refuted. 

Going  on  to  consider  bird-songs,  Wallace  says: 
"  The  peculiar  calls  of  birds,  and  even  tlie  singing  of 
the  males,  may  very  well  have  originated  merely  as  a 

*  [It  is  precisely  at  such  critical  junctures  as  this  that  the  prin- 
ciple of  Organic  Selection  (see  above,  p.  64,  and  the  Appendix)  is 
needed  to  relieve  the  strain  on  natural  selection.  If  there  be  any 
preferential  mating — even  the  little  conscious  choice  admitted  by 
Wallace,  or  the  more  physiological  sort  suggested  by  Groos — it 
would  set  the  direction  in  which  natural  selection  would  accumu- 
late variations. — J.  M.  B.] 


24:0  THE   PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

means  of  recognition  between  the  two  sexes  of  a  species, 
and  as  an  invitation  from  the  male  to  the  female  bird." 
These  acoustic  signals  become  very  important  when  the 
members  of  a  species  live  far  apart,  and  are  of  especial 
service  to  migratory  birds  whose  males  first  arrive 
at  the  destination  and  call  to  their  mates  to  follow. 
The  male  that  is  distinguished  for  the  "  clearness,  loud- 
ness, and  individuality ''  of  his  song  would  succeed  first 
in  accomplishing  this,  and  has  thus  an  advantage  that 
may  be  decisive  in  the  struggle  for  life.  But  in  that 
case  the  clearness,  loudness,  and  individuality  of  his 
song  would  be  a  sufficient  object  for  the  operation  of 
natural  selection.*  A  close  examination  of  these  cita- 
tions shows,  I  think,  that  while  they  modify  the  Dar- 
winian theory  very  considerably,  they  do  not  exclude  it. 
It  would,  indeed,  be  absurd  to  affirm  that  all  bird- 
songs  originate  in  a  conscious  esthetic  and  critical  act 
of  judgment  on  the  part  of  the  female.  A  conscious 
choice  either  of  the  most  beautiful  or  the  loudest  singer 
is  certainly  not  the  rule,  and  probably  never  occurs  at 
all.  But  is  it  not  still  a  choice,  though  unconscious, 
when  the  female  turns  to  the  singer  whose  voice, 
whether  from  strength  or  modulation,  proves  most  at- 
tractive? Even  if  the  song  is  primarily  a  means  of 
recognition  or  an  invitation  from  the  male,  still  the 
psychological  effect  must  be  that  the  female  follows  the 
songster  that  excites  her  most,  and  so  exerts  a  kind  of 
unconscious  selection. 

But  this  is  essentially  the  Darwinian  idea,  since, 
though  there  is  indeed  no  conscious  aesthetic  selection, 

*  On  this  point  I  a^ree  with  E.  von  Hartmann's  penetrating 
criticism  of  the  Darwinian  theory.  See  especially  his  Philosophie 
des  Unbewussten,  iii,  p.  435. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  241 

a  kind  of  unconscious  choosing  does  take  place  which  is 
in  a  pecuHar  sense  sexual  selection,  for  the  female  is  un- 
doubtedly more  easily  won  by  the  male  that  most 
strongly  excites  her  sexual  instinct.  That  such  a  selec- 
tion as  this  is  difficult  or  even  incapable  of  proof  from 
its  very  nature  is  no  argument  against  its  existence. 

Wallace  says,  indeed,  that  all  the  things  a  young 
man  may  do  to  make  himself  acceptable  in  the  eyes  of 
his  beloved,  while  they  do  perhaps  please  her,  have  no 
influence  in  inducing  her  to  accede  to  his  wishes.*  But 
is  this  a  fact?  A  conscious  influence  would  scarcely 
be  allowed  to  them,  but  will  not  a  fine  figure,  good 
address,  noble  carriage,  and  even  tasteful  dress  prove 
a  powerful  spur  to  unconscious  choice?  Will  not  the 
soldier  in  his  handsome  uniform  be  more  acceptable 
than  the  same  man  in  his  working  blouse?  Has  not 
the  actor  or  the  singer  who  has  distinguished  himself 
a  better  reception  than  a  man  quite  his  equal,  but  en- 
gaged in  a  commonplace  business? 

And  now,  putting  aside  everything  that  distin- 
guishes man  from  the  other  animals,  all  our  apprecia- 
tion of  intelligence  and  culture,  all  higher  aesthetic 
influences,  all  considerations  of  a  practical  and  mate- 
rial nature — conceive  such  a  human  race  and  suppose  a 
condition  of  absolute  free  love  with  every  spiritual 
ground  for  preference  removed — must  we  not  suppose 
that  such  (impossible)  human  beings  left  to  the  mere 
processes  of  evolution  would  become  stronger  and  more 
beautiful  in  the  course  of  a  hundred  or  more  genera- 
tions? 

I  can  not,  then,  admit  that  sexual  selection  is  entire- 
ly subverted  by  Wallace's  conclusions.    If  we  accept  his 

*  Darwinism,  p.  286. 


242  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

theory  of  bird-song,  an  involuntary  selection  based  on 
the  strongest  sexual  excitement  takes  the  place  of  a 
choice  of  the  most  pleasing,  and  we  may  assume  the  like 
in  regard  to  the  other  arts  of  courtship.  Having  con- 
ceded so  much,  we  must  also  admit  that  the  excitement 
may  be  augmented  by  the  display  of  unusual  colours 
and  forms,  making  sexual  selection  influential  upon  these 
as  well,  but  that  it  was  prepared  for  by  the  factors  intro- 
duced by  Wallace,  in  a  much  more  extended  way  than 
was  understood  by  Darwin. 

The  Darwinian  principle  thus  improved  seems  to  me 
to  be  the  only  one  in  existence  that  has  the  least  value  as 
a  working  hypothesis.  It  can  not,  of  course,  be  said 
to  be  as  well  established  as  is  the  principle  of  natural 
selection,  but  it  is  materially  strengthened  by  the  sub- 
stitution of  involuntary  yielding  to  the  strongest  im- 
l^ulse  for  conscious  aesthetic  choice  on  the  part  of  the 
female.*  If  must  be  borne  in  mind,  however,  that  such 
selection  does  not,  as  a  rule,  imply  a  direct  rejection 
of  less  favoured  suitors,  but  owes  its  chief  effectiveness 
to  the  advantage  it  offers  the  favoured  male  in  securing 
the  earlier  birth  of  his  children. 

As  we  are  now  on  hypothetical  ground,  the  follow- 
ing note  may  not  be  out  of  place  in  conclusion.  Pro- 
fessor Ziegler,  of  Freiburg,  says,  in  the  covirse  of  a  pri- 
vate communication,  "  Among  all  animals  a  highly 
excited  condition  of  the  nervous  system  is  necessary  for 
the  act  of  pairing,  and  consequently  we  find  an  exciting 
playful  prelude  very  generally  indulged  in."  The  germ 
of  a  still  more  far-reaching  modification  of  the  theory 
of  sexual  selection  seems  to  me  to  be  contained  in  this 


*  This  idea  has  been  more  fully  carried  out  by  Von  Hartmann 
{loc.  cit.). 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  243 

indisputable  fact.  In  the  first  place,  it  is  certain  that 
in  general  before  any  important  motor  discharge  there 
is  apt  to  be  a  preparatory  and  gradually  increasing 
excitement.  A  period  of  rapidly  increasing  irritation 
which  causes  various  reflex  movements  generally  pre- 
cedes a  \^Tathful  onslaught,  as  angry  dogs  illustrate  no 
less  than  Homeric  heroes.  While  we  find  this  introduc- 
tory stage,  which  is  easy  of  explanation  physiologically, 
reduced  to  a  minimum  in  the  instinct  for  fiight  and  in 
the  spring  upon  prey,  it  appears  to  be  at  the  other  ex- 
treme in  the  courtship  of  many  animals,  for  we  find 
a  long-continued  preliminary  excitation  necessary,  which 
presents  strange  peculiarities.  This  fact  seems  to  me  to 
suggest  very  strongly  the  probability  that  in  order  to 
preserve  the  species  the  discharge  of  the  sexual  func- 
tion must  be  rendered  difficult,  since  the  impulse  to  it 
is  so  powerful  that  without  some  such  arrest  it  might 
easily  become  prejudicial  to  that  end.  This  same 
strength  of  impulse  is  itself  necessary  to  the  preserva- 
tion of  the  species ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  dams  must  be 
opposed  to  the  impetuous  stream,  lest  the  impulse  ex- 
pend itself  before  it  is  made  effectual,  or  the  mothers 
of  the  race  be  robbed  of  their  strength,  to  the  detriment 
of  their  offspring. 

If  this  be  granted,  all  the  rest  follows  easily  enough. 
The  most  important  factor  in  maintaining  this  necessary 
check  is  the  co3'ness  of  the  female;  coquetry  is  the  con- 
flict between  natural  impulse  and  co}Tiess,  and  the  male's 
part  is  to  overcome  the  latter.  This  is  accomplished  most 
easily  by  pursuit,  and  at  last  by  what  appears  sometimes 
as  violence,  but  probably  is  not  really  such,  but  only  a 
necessary  stage  in  the  attainment  of  the  requisite  pitch  of 
excitation.  There  are  other  means  as  well ;  for  instance, 
scent  in  manv  animals,  that  is  useful  as  a  means  of  rec- 


244  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

ognition,  is  a  powerful  agent  here;  contact,  too,  plays 
its  part  with  most  animals,*  as  well  as  the  regular  love 
plays,  such  as  dancing,  flying,  and  singing. 

And  since  with  these  is  connected  the  display  of 
brilliant  colours  and  striking  forms,  the  intensifying 
of  performances  that  were  perhaps  originally  intended 
to  serve  other  purposes  may  help  to  overcome  the  female's 
reluctance. 

In  all  this  we  have  attempted  to  indicate  the  out- 
lines of  a  view  which  would  so  transform  the  original 
Darwinian  principle  that  if  fully  carried  out  we  should 
have  to  consider  it  a  new  theory.  Sexual  selection 
would  then  become  a  special  case  of  natural  selection.  If 
the  point  of  departure  for  this  idea  be  granted — namel}^, 
that  the  excited  condition  necessary  for  pairing,  and  also 
a  certain  difficulty  in  its  execution,  are  both  useful  for 
the  preservation  of  the  species — we  find  the  whole  series 
of  phenomena  related  to  the  subject  so  much  more  simply 
and  satisfactorily  explained  that  no  one,  it  seems  to  me, 
can  hesitate  to  decide  in  favour  of  the  hypothesis.  In- 
stead of  a  conscious  or  unconscious  choice,  of  which 
we  know  nothing  certain,  we  have  the  need  of  overcom- 
ing instinctive  coyness  in  the  female,  a  fact  familiar 
enough,  but  hitherto  not  sufficiently  accounted  for. 
Then  the  question  is  no  longer  which  among  many 
males  will  be  chosen  by  the  female,  but  which  one  has 
the  qualities  that  can  overcome  the  reluctance  of  the  fe- 
male whom  he  woos.  How^  great  a  difference  this  is  will 
appear  from  the  fact  that  in  the  well-founded  opinion 
of  the  ^liillers  the  choice  itself,  the  betrothal  of  the 
birds,  as  it  were,  takes  place  before  the  breeding  time. 
"Long  before  the  springtime,  with  all  its  enticements 

*  Cf.  Espinas,  Les  Societes  animales. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  245 

to  love,  the  young  birds  have  chosen  their  mates,  unseen 
by  any  but  the  closest  observers.  It  is  a  common  mis- 
take to  suppose  that  the  marriage  bond  is  first  assumed 
in  spring.  Rather  to  this  time  belongs  the  male's  first 
solicitations  for  his  mate's  consent  to  sexual  union,  and 
this  has  been  falsely  called  pairing."  *  If  this  opin- 
ion, so  emphatically  expressed,  is  correct,  the  explanation 
of  the  phenomena  of  courtship  by  means  of  conscious  or 
unconscious  choice  is  irretrievably  damaged.  Our  view, 
on  the  contrary,  would  be  in  perfect  accord  with  it, 
whether  there  had  been  a  previous  choice  or  none  at  all. 
Eeproduction  would  be  assured  to  the  male  who  pos- 
sessed the  qualities  and  capacities  necessary  to  conquer 
the  instinctive  reluctance  of  the  mate. 

This  explains,  too,  why  the  dallying  of  birds  that 
have  lived  in  wedlock  for  a  long  time  is  repeated  year 
after  year,  and  indeed  much  oftener,  although  there  can 
certainly  be  no  further  selection  by  the  female,  f  And, 
finally,  our  hypothesis  applies  equally  well  to  plays 
by  masses  and  whole  flocks  together,  and  to  those  cases 
where  the  female  takes  part  in  the  flying  and  singing, 
which  present  great  difficulty  to  the  Darwinian  theory, 
and  yet  it  does  not  preclude  the  possibility  of  a  con- 
scious or  unconscious  choice  in  Darwin's  sense. 

Before  going  on  to  the  second  part  of  our  subject, 
I  wish  to  notice  the  common  objection  that  what  we  call 
the  arts  of  courtship  are  frequently  practised  at  other 
times. 

This  objection  is  expressed  most  clearly  by  Spencer, 

*  A.  and  K.  Miiller,  Thiere  der  Heimath,  i,  p.  4. 

t  The  zooloijist  H.  E.  Zie^ler  says,  in  a  notice  of  this  book : 
"  This  circumstance  favours  the  author's  view,  for  there  could 
hardly  be  sexual  selection  in  such  cases,  but  rather  excitation 
only." 


246  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

Wallace^  and  Hudson.  One  of  the  passages  already 
cited  from  Wallace  will  serve  as  an  example.  He  says 
that  when  there  is  a  surplus  of  energy  the  animal  in- 
dulges in  all  sorts  of  strange  motions  and  vocal  exer- 
cises. This  happens^  it  is  true,  most  commonly  at  the 
mating  time,  when  the  animal  is  in  full  possession  of  all 
his  powers,  but  may  occur  at  any  time  w^hen  there  is 
superabundant  vigour. 

I  have  already  pointed  out  that  such  a  conception 
of  hereditary  instinct  must  to  have  any  value  be  sup- 
ported by  the  theory  of  the  inheritance  of  acquired  hab- 
its. Even  Darwin,  who  concedes  the  Lamarckian  princi- 
ple, has  expressed  himself  in  opposition  to  the  view  that 
such  phenomena  may  be  regarded  as  expressing  a  gen- 
eral state  of  exhilaration,  with  only  a  secondary  appli- 
cation to  courtship.*  He  quotes  from  an  article  f  and 
from  letters  of  Joh.  von  Fischer  that  a  young  man- 
dril, when  he  saw  himself  for  the  first  time  in  a  mirror, 
turned  round  after  a  while  with  his  red  back  toward 
the  glass,  just  as  many  apes  do  when  they  see  strangers 
looking  at  them.  (Brehm  quotes  an  ancient  descrip- 
tion of  a  mandril  by  Gesner:  "  This  animal  was  brought 
to  Augsburg  with  great  wonder  and  exhibited  there. 
On  his  feet  he  had  fingers  like  a  man's,  and  when  any 
one  looked  at  him  he  turned  his  back.")  Other  cases 
are  recorded  where  the  animal  apparently  desired  to 
display  what  he  considered  his  greatest  beauties  and 
attractions,  just  as  these  monkeys  show  to  the  observer 
their  most  highly  coloured  parts. 

How  shall  we  account  for  these  facts?  Can  they 
be  the   effects  of  ordinary  reflexes   answering  to  any 

*  Xnture.  Xovembpr.  1876. 

I  Der  zoologische  Garten,  April,  1876. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  247 

excitation?  That  is  not  likely  with  movements  so 
significant.  Or  shall  we  say  with  Fischer  that  the  rea- 
son monkeys  enjoy  being  stroked  or  scratched  on  bare 
spots  is  because  such  sensations  are  associated  with  the 
friendly  ofiices  of  comrades  in  removing  thorns,  etc., 
and  from  this  their  modes  of  greeting  have  developed? 
Is  it  not  a  thousand  times  more  natural  to  suppose  that 
such  instincts  are  primarily  for  the  purpose  of  sexual 
excitation,  though  they  are  sometimes  connected  with 
other  stimuli?  I  do  not  think  that  any  one  can  seri- 
ously doubt  where  the  greater  probability  lies. 

These  remarks  also  apply  to  dancing,  evolutions  in 
flight,  contortions  of  the  body,  erection  of  feathers, 
making  strange  noises,  as  well  as  the  calling  and  sing- 
ing of  amorous  animals.  In  all  these  we  see  instinctive 
acts  performed  for  the  purpose  of  arousing  excitement, 
usually  in  both  sexes.  As  the  ape  exhibits  such  actions 
most  unmistakably,  I  have  cited  his  case  to  avoid  the 
possibility  of  misconstruction,  for  none  can  deny  their 
connection  with  the  sexual  life,  or  attribute  them  to 
any  ordinary  excitement. 

In  order  to  arrive  at  a  satisfactory  position,  however, 
on  this  question,  we  must  occupy  middle  ground  be- 
tween the  contestants.  We  must  admit  that  in  most 
cases  the  actual  basis  for  the  arts  of  courtship  is  to  be 
found  in  general  excitement  reflexes,  or  even  in  those 
of  quite  a  different  origin.  This  basis  consists  partly 
in  such  reflex  motions  as  result  from  any  strong  excita- 
tion, such  as  restless  fluttering,  running  about,  skipping, 
and  trembling,  and  further  in  the  reflexes  that  are  com- 
monly awakened  in  the  face  of  an  enemy,  such  as  in- 
flation, erection  of  hair  or  feathers,  lifting  the  voice, 
etc.  These  are  obviously  the  material  from  which  ISTa- 
ture  has  derived  the  peculiar  arts  of  courtship  in  all 
18 


248  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

their  variety,  and  these  arts,  as  we  have  seen,  are  then 
extended  to  occasions  which  have  no  sexual  meaning. 

Bnt  what  is  onr  justification  for  calling  this  play? 
If  the  adult  bird  practises  his  skill  in  flight  and  song 
out  of  season  and  simply  from  good  spirits,  that  indeed 
is  play,  and  the  gambols  and  dallyings  of  young  im- 
mature animals  are  as  much  play  as  their  romping  is. 

But,  apart  from  these,  it  is  common  to  speak  of  the 
arts  of  actual  courtship  in  the  same  way,  and  this  fact 
requires  some  explanation,  though  I  confess  I  can  not 
find  one  that  is  entirely  adequate.  The  fact  seems  to 
be  simply  that  the  evolutions  of  birds  on  the  wing, 
their  songs  and  dances,  and  their  naive  display  of  what 
adornments  they  possess,  impress  us  as  playful,  and  we 
have  fallen  into  the  habit  of  speaking  about  all  animals 
in  the  same  way.  But  who  knows  that  a  mistaken 
analogy  has  not  led  us  far  astray?  When  a  skater  sees 
his  beloved  on  the  ice  he  displays  all  his  skill  before 
her,  and  a  good  dancer  does  the  same  at  a  ball;  a  man  in 
love  actually  w^alks  straighter  and  dresses  better,  and  the 
power  of  song  has  its  uses,  too,  in  human  courtship. 
When  all  this  happens,  we  say  the  man  is  playing  a 
part,  is  trying  to  appear  stronger,  more  skilful,  better 
looking,  more  sympathetic,  etc.,  than  he  really  is,  and 
even  if  all  the  conditions  of  our  definition  of  play  are 
not  fulfilled  we  must  consider  his  conduct  in  that  light. 
But  are  we  justified  in  extending  the  analogy  to  the 
animal  world  on  such  grounds  as  these?  Certainly 
not,  for  apart  from  uncertainty  of  any  far-reaching 
correspondence  between  human  and  animal  life  in  their 
higher  aspects,  such  a  proceeding  would  involve  the 
fallacy  of  comparing  phenomena  that  are  not  even 
externally  alike.  To  make  them  so,  the  amorous  gen- 
tleman should  lift  his  voice  at  the  sight  of  his  lady. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  249 

should  indulge  in  all  sorts  of  capers  and  dances,  and  in- 
stead of  the  fingering  of  his  beard  merely  it  should  rise 
on  end  of  itself,  etc.  Since  these  things  do  not  transpire, 
we  are  precluded  from  drawing  any  conclusion  from 
human  analogy  as  to  the  psychological  significance  of 
animal  courtship. 

In  fact,  there  seems  even  to  be  a  direct  contrast.  The 
youth  desirous  of  showing  off  his  good  looks  or  skill  in 
any  art  acts  voluntarily,  he  consciously  plays  a  part  when 
that  is  necessary  to  his  purpose.  The  animal,  on  the 
contrary,  acts  reflexly,  following  a  blind  propensity.  His 
condition  of  excitation  calls  into  activity  certain  motor 
tracks,  and  the  animal  obeys  the  impulse,  unconscious 
that  he  is  making  a  display  of  his  attractions. 

I  have  exaggerated  this  contrast  purposely,  to  prove 
that  such  a  crude  dualistic  conception  of  courtship  as  ex- 
hibited by  men  and  animals  is  too  much  like  the  Carte- 
sian view.  But  this  statement  of  it  requires  modification, 
for,  on  the  one  hand,  the  young  man  playing  the  agree- 
able is  not  so  entirely  governed  by  reason  as  might  ap- 
pear, for  blind  propensity  has  as  much  to  do  with  his 
actions  as  reflective  choice  has,  and,  on  the  other  hand, 
the  higher  animals,  and  especially  birds,  exhibit  such  a 
degree  of  intelligence  that  I  consider  it  nearer  the 
truth  to  affirm  than  to  deny  a  consciousness  of  self- 
exhibition  in  their  displays  of  beauty  and  dexterity. 
There  is,  of  course,  between  affirmation  and  denial  the 
safe  but  fruitless  position  of  the  sceptic  with  his  doubt- 
ing shrug,  but  I  think  it  is  more  honest  to  meet  the 
question  squarely  and  lay  before  the  reader  sufficient  ex- 
amples to  justify  an  intelligent  judgment  upon  the  char- 
acteristics of  a  playful  act. 

The  difficulty  of  definition  is  greater  here  than  with 
other  classes  of  play,  for  the  reason  that  it  is  neces- 


250  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

sary  to  get  at  the  psychic  or  inner  features  of  the  phe- 
nomenon. We  established  as  a  fundamental  principle 
of  our  inquiry  the  fact  that  play  is,  to  state  it  briefly, 
not  exercise  of,  but  practice  preparatory  to,  instinctive 
activity.  When,  as  in  the  case  of  young  animals,  the 
practice  is  obviously  preparatory,*  there  is  no  occasion 
to  speculate  on  the  probable  psychic  accompaniments  in 
order  to  establish  its  playful  character.  But  here  we 
are  confronted  with  acts  that  are  performed  at  the  time 
for  the  actual  exercise  of  the  instinct,  and  consequently 
in  their  external  manifestation  appear  as  serious  means 
to  a  real  end.  In  such  cases,  therefore,  only  the  psychic 
significance  which  I  before  put  aside  as  a  secondary  con- 
sideration can  decide  as  to  the  genuine  playfulness  of  an 
act. 

The  bird  performing  his  fantastic  evolutions  of 
flight  and  dancing  before  the  object  of  his  affections 
is  not  playing,  so  long  as  he  only  discharges  the  motor 
functions  prescribed  by  heredity.  Sexual  excitement 
would  produce  the  reactions  necessary  for  courtship 
without  anything  taking  place  in  the  creature's  mind 
other  than  takes  place  there  when  he  involuntarily 
flies  away  at  tlie  sight  of  an  enemy.  All  the  compli- 
cated acts  of  courtship  would  then  be  nothing  more 
than  physiological  results  of  excitation,  a  direct  exer- 
cise of  instinct  for  serious  ends,  not  in  any  sense  play. 
Familiar  facts  show  that  this  may  often  be  the  case. 
It  frequently  happens  that  excitation  unconnected  with 
sex — such,  for  instance,  as  that  produced  by  the  sight 
of  a  foe — calls  forth  the  manifestations  usually  asso- 
ciated with  courtship,  and  not  only  those  that  might 

*  [The  author's  antithesis  between  Ansiihun^  (exercise),  on  the 
one  hand,  and  Einiibunj]:  (practice)  with  Yorijbnna:  (preparation),  on 
the  other  hand,  can  not  be  fully  rendered  by  single  English  words.] 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  251 

be  calculated  to  inspire  fear,  such  as  erection  of  the 
feathers,  etc.,  but  even  exhibitions  of  flight  and  sing- 
ing. Canaries  commonly  trill  shrilly  while  fighting, 
and  Brelim  says  that  the  lapwing,  which  is  very  irrita- 
ble during  the  nesting  period,  becomes  wildly  excited, 
sounds  his  mating  call,  and  tumbles  about  in  the  air 
at  the  a|)proach  of  a  man  or  an  animal.  Since,  then, 
the  excitement  of  anger  can  produce  these  effects  re- 
flexly,  it  is  probable  that  that  of  courtship  may  fre- 
quently act  in  the  same  way;  indeed,  among  the  lower 
orders  this  is  probably  the  rule. 

On  the  other  hand,  w^e  are  forced  to  remember  that 
the  acts  of  the  higher  animals  are  generally  accom- 
panied by  quite  complicated  psychic  processes.  Tak- 
ing birds  again  as  our  example,  it  must  be  conceded 
that  an  enlightened  animal  psychologist  is  obliged  to 
attribute  to  them  a  highly  developed  intellectual  and 
emotional  life.  "  Adequately  to  treat  of  the  intelli- 
gence of  birds/'  says  Eomanes,  "  a  separate  volume 
would  be  required.''  *  And  we  know  from  many  in- 
dependent observations  that  are  mutually  confirmatory 
to  a  remarkable  degree  that  this  statement  is  not  exag- 
gerated. Pigeons  recognise  a  voice  after  many  months' 
absence,  and  a  bullfinch  belonging  to  one  of  the  Miillers 
did  so  after  nearly  a  year.f  Tame  storks  answer  to  a 
familiar  name.]:  It  is  well  known  that  birds  dream, 
and  parrots  sometimes  talk  in  their  sleep;  the  emotions 
of  love  and  sympathy  are  very  active;  the  conjugal 
fidelity  of  many  species  speaks  for  the  finer  feelings, 
the  wedded  pair  evincing  the  deepest  grief  on  being 

*  Animal  Intelligence,  p.  266. 

f  A.  and  K.  Muller,  Thiere  der  Heimath,  i,  p.  114. 

X  Xauniann,  ix,  p.  256. 


252  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

separated  and  the  greatest  jo}-  on  reunion;  crows,  in 
spite  of  their  shyness  of  a  gun,  hover  about  a  com- 
rade that  has  been  shot  instead  of  taking  flight;  par- 
rots and  storks  revenge  an  injury  after  a  long  inter- 
val and  rejoice  diabolically  over  the  success  of  a  piece 
of  mischief.  The  behaviour  of  peacocks  and  turkeys 
points  to  the  conclusion  that  birds  can  be  vain,  but 
might  be  thought  insufficient  to  prove  it  if  it  were  not 
for  the  pride  of  talking  birds  over  their  accomplish- 
ments; Darwin  has  conclusively  proved  that  they  take 
pleasure  in  beautiful  colours  and  musical  sounds;  many 
birds  drop  shell-covered  prey  from  a  height  in  order  to 
break  the  shell;  the  teachableness  of  canaries,  finches,* 
and  other  birds  is  astonishing ;  they  learn  the  most  diffi- 
cult compositions;  crows  have  been  known  to  conduct 
trials,  where  by  common  consent  some  unpopular  mem- 
bers of  the  community  were  condemned  and  executed; 
swallows,  in  whose  nest  a  sparrow  has  established  itself, 
wall  up  the  entrance  so  that  the  intruder  perishes. 

This  list  might  be  extended  indefinitely,  but  these 
few  examples,  which  I  have  purposely  chosen  as  some 
of  the  most  remarkable  among  well-authenticated  cases, 
clearly  indicate  mental  endowments  of  a  high  order  in 
the  birds  concerned. 

This  being  established,  it  must  be  admitted  that  the 
ardent  male  who  performs  his  fl3'ings  and  dancings  again 
and  again  before  his  mate  and  invariably  succeeds  by 
such  methods  in  overcoming  her  reluctance,  may  wtII 
be  quite  conscious  of  what  he  is  doing.  That  satisfac- 
tion in  his  ability  to  talk,  which  the  parrot  shows  so 
plainly,  and  which  appears  so  early  in  the  child,  is 
probably  akin  to  the  feeling  which  swells  the  breast 

*  See  Naumann,  v,  p.  137. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  253 

of  a  bird  when  he  conducts  his  courtship  successfully. 
And  thus  it  may  come  about  that  the  actual  exercise 
of  instinct  for  a  real  end  may,  to  a  certain  degree,  have 
the  psychological  aspect  of  mere  play.  Just  as  strong 
men  sometimes  undertake  severe  physical  labour  and 
derive  pleasure  from  it — that  pleasure  in  power  which 
imparts  a  playful  character  to  the  most  serious  work — 
so  we  may  suppose  the  wooing  bird  enjoys  his  own  agil- 
ity and  skill,  nor  can  we  deny  to  him  the  satisfaction 
that  makes  their  exercise  a  play. 

Thus  the  dance  of  courtship  may  be  considered 
psychologically  as  having  the  character  of  a  movement 
play,  though  it  is  not  actually  play  in  itself  considered. 
Further,  it  seems  to  follow,  from  the  admission  that  the 
female  enjoys  witnessing  such  blandishments,  that  the 
male  must  be  conscious  of  giving  her  that  pleasure — 
that  is,  is  conscious  that  he  is  making  a  display — and 
in  this,  too,  the  act  which  is  a  serious  exercise  of  instinct 
takes  on  the  psychological  aspect  of  play.  Thus  the 
crude  dualistic  contrasting  of  human  and  animal  court- 
ships is  shown  to  be  unwarranted. 

Taking  a  general  view  of  love  plays,  I  distinguish 
five  separate  classes,  as  follows: 

1.  Love  plays  among  young  animals. 

2.  Courtship  by  means  of  the  arts  of  movement. 

3.  Courtship  by  means  of  the  display  of  unusual  or 
beautiful  colours  and  forms. 

4.  Courtship  by  means  of  noises  and  tones. 

5.  Coquetry  in  the  female. 

1.  Love  Plays  among  Young  Animals. 

Among  animals  that  have  a  period  of  youth  the 
sexual  instinct  usually  finds  expression  in  some  sort  of 
play  long  before  maturity.     This  is  especially  notice- 


254:  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

able  in  mammals,  some  of  which  even  in  infancy  make 
efforts  to  produce  the  movements  necessary  for  pairing, 
a  fact  which  can  only  be  explained  as  practice  for  later 
life.  Such  phenomena  are  common  among  young  dogs 
and  apes,  and  Dr.  Seitz,  in  Frankfort,  noticed  them  in 
an  antelope  only  six  weeks  old.  While  there  are  cases, 
especially  among  monkeys,  where  there  is  so  much 
excitement  as  to  render  the  playful  character  doubt- 
ful, still,  as  a  rule,  it  is  attributed  to  youthful  sportive- 
ness.  According  to  Dr.  Seitz,  it  sometimes  happens  in 
these  games  that  the  sexes  change  their  parts,  the  male 
coqueting  and  the  female  pursuing.  Chr.  L.  Brehm 
has  noticed  this,  too,  in  the  case  of  the  golden-crested 
wren. 

Much  detailed  material  has  been  collected  by  or- 
nithologists to  show  that  songs,  dancing,  and  flying  evo- 
lutions are  extensively  practised  by  young  birds  in 
their  first  autumn,  too  early  to  serve  the  purposes  of 
reproduction.  This  is  genuine  play,  practice  for  in- 
stinctive activity  quite  as  much  as  are  the  chasing  and 
fighting  of  young  animals.  "  The  song  of  birds,"  says 
the  elder  Brehm,  "  appears  to  be  the  expression  of 
love,  for  it  begins  with  many  shortly  before  pairing 
and  ceases  altogether  after  it,  and  with  those  that  sing 
all  through  the  summer,  as  the  field  lark  does,  the  pair- 
ing season  lasts  as  long.  Caged  birds  are  no  exception 
to  this,  for  most  of  them  lose  their  natural  or  hereditary 
song  or  never  acquire  it,  as,  for  instance,  the  wood  lark, 
the  red  linnet,  and  many  others. 

"  Awakening  love  impels  some  birds  in  captivity  to 
sing  as  usual,  and  they  also  breed  in  that  state,  but  the 
majority  lose  their  power  to  do  the  latter  and  sing  only 
as  the  effect  of  rich  food  and  ennui.  But  the  most 
noteworthy  thing  about  the  whole  subject  is  that  their 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  255 

love  is  awakened  long  before  breeding  time,  usually  in 
the  first  autumn  of  their  lives.  This  fact  has  not  been 
announced  before,  and  should  be  supported  by  weighty 
proof,  therefore  I  will  now  proceed  to  name  the  birds 
whose  young  I  have  myself  heard  singing  in  the  au- 
tumn. .  .  .  Young  magpies  (Corvus  pica)  produce  in 
September,  often  in  August  and  October  as  well,  the  long 
metallic  notes  that  characterize  them  in  spring,  just  be- 
fore pairing.  ...  I  have  often  heard  the  Picus  viridi- 
canas  piping  in  September  as  beautifully  as  in  April, and 
indeed  the  Picus  major  sometimes  hums  in  the  autumn, 
picking  absently  meanwhile  among  the  dry  branches 
just  as  he  does  in  spring.  The  crossbill  and  some  wood- 
peckers sing  before  they  have  shed  their  first  feathers. 
Young  house  and  field  sparrows  not  only  chatter  and 
chirp,  but  swell  up  their  throats  and  peck  at  one  an- 
other just  as  they  will  do  at  the  pairing  time  next  spring. 
Eed  linnets  begin  their  song  while  still  in  their  baby 
clothes,  learn  it  perfectly  while  moulting,  and  even  in 
winter,  if  the  weather  is  mild,  join  in  singing  with 
their  elders.  The  wood  lark  sings  as  soon  as  his  first 
moulting  is  past,  not  only  while  at  rest,  but  mounting 
aloft  as  in  spring,  fioating  about  as  he  sings.  All  the 
titmouse  family  sing,  the  swamp  titmouse  producing 
exactly  the  note  that  accompanies  breeding,  and  in  Oc- 
tober, 1821,  I  saw  one  approach  his  mate  with  all  the 
manifestations  that  precede  pairing  in  the  spring,  while 
she  dropped  her  wings  and  spread  her  tail."  Brehm 
goes  on  to  mention  similar  songs  and  actions  on  the 
part  of  starlings,  water  wagtails,  willow  wrens,  black- 
and  heath-cocks,  and  a  great  variety  of  other  birds,  and 
says  in  conclusion:  "The  fact  that  pairing  does  not 
follow  these  demonstrations  proves  their  dissimilarity 
to  those  of  domestic  fowls.     The  young  cock  is  phys- 


256  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

ically  developed  very  early  and  ready  for  pairing  in 
the  first  autumn  of  his  life,  but,  with  the  exception  of 
the  crossbill,  this  is  not  the  case  with  the  birds  that  have 
been  mentioned.  The  awakening  of  love  seems  to  fill 
these  little  creatures  only  with  a  beautiful  tenderness, 
which  inspires  them  to  express  their  joy  in  song  and 
other  demonstrations.*  Hudson  tells  us  that  many  spe- 
cies of  American  woodpeckers  engage  in  a  kind  of  duet 
which  is  practised  in  their  earliest  youth.  "  On  meet- 
ing, the  male  and  female,  standing  close  together 
and  facing  each  other,  utter  their  clear,  ringing  con- 
cert, one  emitting  loud,  single,  measured  notes,  while 
the  notes  of  its  fellow  are  rapid  rhythmical  triplets; 
their  voices  have  a  joyous  character,  and  seem  to  ac- 
cord, thus  producing  a  kind  of  harmony.  This  manner 
of  singing  is  perhaps  most  perfect  in  the  oven  bird 
(Furnarius),  and  it  is  very  curious  that  the  j^oung 
birds,  when  only  partly  fledged,  are  constantly  heard  in 
the  nest  or  oven  apparently  practising  these  duets  in  the 
intervals  when  the  parents  are  absent;  single,  measured 
notes,  triplets,  and  long,  concluding  trills  are  all  re- 
peated with  wonderful  fidelity,  although  these  notes 
are  in  character  utterly  unlike  the  hunger  cry,  which 
is  like  that  of  other  fledglings."  f 

It  would  seem,  then,  to  be  firmly  established,  among 
birds  at  least,  that  the  arts  of  courtship  are  practised 
as  youthful  sport  before  the  time  for  reproduction.  In 
choosing  the  examples  cited  from  Brehm  I  have  inten- 
tionally included  some  that  refer  to  flying  and  dancing 
motions,  as  well  as  to  singing. 

*  Brehm.  Beitraofe  znr  Vocrelkunrlo,  ii,  pp.  747-756. 
t  The  NaturaUst  in  La  Plata,  p.  256. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  £57 

2.  Courtship  by  means  of  the  Arts  of  Movement. 

Beginning  with  mammals,  some  of  the  examples 
cited  of  fighting  dogs  belong  here  as  properly.  The 
amorous  dog,  too,  in  contrast  to  the  feline  tribe,  which 
does  not  seem  to  have  any  special  courtship  movements, 
indulges  in  what  might  almost  be  called  a  dance.  The 
motions  are  like  those  with  which  he  approaches  an 
enemy,  especially  the  stiff-legged  gait,  the  rigid  tail, 
and  the  erect  carriage  of  his  head.  The  fact  that  a 
vain  dog  will  behave  in  the  same  way  when  allowed  to 
carry  a  cane  proves  the  consciousness  of  self-exhibi- 
tion.* 

The  stone  marten  proudly  lifts  his  head  at  the  ap- 
proach of  a  female,  his  tail  is  curved,  the  limbs  stiffened, 
the  hair  rises  on  his  back,  and  his  whole  aspect  suggests 
the  utmost  vigour,  f 

The  fish  otter  tumbles  and  splashes  around  his 
chosen  one  in  an  extraordinary  manner,  during  which 
performance  his  eel-like  tail  is  in  constant  motion  and 
the  sinuous  body  is  as  often  above  as  beneath  the  sur- 
face of  the  water. :[  The  buck  delights  to  follow  a  doe 
about  until  their  breeding  time  in  July  or  August,  and, 
according  to  Diezel,  the  same  thing  is  repeated  in  l^o- 
vember,  but  this  time  without  result.*  The  following 
interesting  description  of  the  action  of  some  antelopes 
is  by  Schweinfurth:  "About  five  hundred  paces  from 
the  road  we  saw  a  group  of  sporting  antelopes.  Their 
manner   of   playing   suggested    a   marching   procession 

*  I  have  noticed,  too,  that  at  such  times  a  fox  terrier  whirls 
around  with  rapid  springs. 

+  Miiller,  Thiere  der  Heimath,  i,  p.  368. 

X  Ihid.,  p.  380,  and  Wohnungen,  Leben  und  Eigenthumlichkeit- 
en  in  der  hoheren  Thierwelt,  p.  204. 

*  Diezel's  Niederjagd,  p.  142. 


258  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

with  an  invisible  leader.  They  followed  one  another 
in  pairs,  forming  circles  in  the  shaded  wood  as  if  they 
were  in  an  arena.  Other  groups  of  three  or  four  stood 
by  as  spectators,  or  from  time  to  time  joined  the  circle. 
This  went  on  until  my  dog  disturbed  and  scattered  the 
assemblage,  but  I  had  plenty  of  time  to  observe  what 
I  have  attempted  to  describe.  I  believe  that  it  was  the 
breeding  time  of  the  animals,  and  for  that  reason  they 
were  oblivious  of  the  approach  of  danger."  Brehm 
says  of  the  water  rat:  "  Both  sexes  indulge  in  long- 
continued  gambolling  before  they  pair.  The  male  be- 
haves very  strangely.  He  turns  so  rapidly  as  to  make  a 
whirlpool  in  the  water.  His  mate  looks  on  with  appar- 
ent indifference,  but  must  secretly  enjoy  his  exhibition, 
for  usually  when  it  is  finished  she  receives  him  with 
favour."  The  whale  in  love  "  turns  over  on  his  back, 
stands  on  his  head,  lashing  the  waves  with  his  tail, 
leaps  up  with  his  giant  bride  sportively  above  the  water 
and  performs  other  antics." 

Observations  on  birds  are  exceedingly  copious  in 
this  connection.  Two  kinds  of  motion  can  be  distin- 
guished among  them,  which  though  sometimes  found  in 
combination  are  quite  unlike.  I  mean  flying  evolutions 
and  dancing  motions.  Taking  flight  first,  we  have 
Brehm^s  description  of  the  blue-throated  warbler:  "  In 
sunny  weather  it  tumbles  about  in  the  air  and  performs 
the  strangest  evolutions,  plunging  headlong  downward 
it  often  turns  a  complete  somersault,  as  Naumann  * 
says.  Then  mounting  slowly  upward  once  more  he 
flies  like  a  dove,  with  quick  movements  of  the  wings 
and  apparently  with  no  object  in  view."  Azara,  de- 
scribing a  small  finch  which  he  aptly  named  Oscilador, 

*  Naturgeschichte  der  Vogel  Deutschlands,  ii,  p.  164. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  259 

says  that  early  and  late  in  the  day  it  mounts  up  ver- 
tically to  a  moderate  height,  then  flies  off  to  a  distance 
of  twenty  yards,  describing  a  perfect  curve  in  its  pas- 
sage; turning,  it  flies  back  over  the  imaginary  line  it 
has  traced,  and  so  on,  repeatedly,  appearing  like  a  pen- 
dulum swung  in  space  by  an  invisible  thread."  *  Audu- 
bon thus  vividly  portrays  the  American  night  hawk: 
"  Their  manner  of  flying  is  a  good  deal  modified  at 
the  love  season.  The  male  employs  the  most  wonderful 
evolutions  to  give  expression  to  his  feelings,  conduct- 
ing them  with  the  greatest  rapidity  and  agility  in  sight 
of  his  chosen  mate,  or  to  put  to  rout  a  rival.  He  often 
rises  to  a  height  of  a  hundred  metres  and  more,  and 
his  cries  become  louder  and  more  frequent  as  he  mounts, 
then  he  plunges  downward  with  a  slanting  direction, 
with  wings  half  open,  and  so  rapidly  that  it  seems  in- 
evitable that  he  should  be  dashed  in  pieces  on  the 
ground.  But  at  the  right  moment,  sometimes  when 
only  a  few  inches  from  it,  he  spreads  his  wings  and  tail 
and  turning  soars  upward  once  more.^'  The  same  au- 
thority describes  the  mocking  bird  as  fluttering  about 
his  mate  and  regularly  dancing  through  the  air.  The 
whitethroat  leaves  his  perch  in  a  tree  top  while  singing, 
rises  ten  to  twenty  yards  and  lets  himself  fall,  still  sing- 
ing, either  fluttering  in  a  slanting  direction  or,  with 
folded  wings,  almost  perpendicularly. 

The  reed  bird,  while  his  mate  is  sitting  on  the  nest, 
flies  up  in  the  air  diagonally  and  floats  with  his  wings 
held  so  that  they  nearly  touch  over  him.  The  wood  lark 
mounts  in  the  same  way,  constantly  singing,  and  after 
describing  one  or  more  circles  falls  or  plunges  down 
and  slowly  returns  to  the  tree  from  which  he  set  out. 

*  The  Xaturalist  in  La  Plata,  p.  2G3. 


260  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

The  siskin,  crossbill,  many  kinds  of  pigeons,  the  lap- 
wing, golden  plover,  and  various  other  birds  behave  in  a 
similar  way  at  their  breeding  time.  I  close  this  part 
of  the  subject  with  Naumann's  description  of  the  snipe. 
In  the  pairing  time  "  the  male  flashes  like  lightning 
from  his  place  in  the  marsh,  first  on  a  slant  and  then 
winding  upward  in  a  great  spiral  to  the  sky.  He 
goes  so  high  that  even  on  bright  days  only  the  strongest 
eyes  can  follow  him.  At  this  great  height  he  floats 
about  in  circles  and  then  shoots  down  perpendicularly 
to  the  ground  with  wings  widespread  and  motion- 
less." * 

The  marked  similarity  in  the  evolutions  of  such 
various  birds  must  have  attracted  the  attention  of  any 
reader  of  this  collection  of  examples,  which  might  be 
enlarged  indefinitely  by  the  addition  of  numberless  oth- 
ers of  a  like  character.  Especially  noticeable  is  the  prac- 
tice of  that  bold  flight  upward  and  then  the  rapid  or  slow 
return;  it  is  peculiar  and  yet  so  common  that  its  expla- 
nation seems  a  riddle  difficult  to  solve.  May  there  not 
be  something  in  the  fact  that  such  a  movement  shows  the 
under  side  of  the  bird's  body  to  his  mate?  The  kite, 
however,  is  said  to  take  her  with  him  on  his  flight,  and 
in  that  case  shows  more  of  the  upper  part  of  his  body. 
Yet  once  granted  the  operation  of  the  instinct,  and  we 
may  easily  assume  that  the  bird's  gliding  downward 
through  the  air  is  a  delightful  movement  play  Avhich 
must  be  about  as  much  like  our  coasting  on  snow  as 
travelling  on  rubber  tires  is  like  the  jolting  of  a  dray 
wagon. 

Among  storks  and  preying  birds  the  female  gen- 
erally  participates   in   these   flights.     "It   is   a   noble 

*  Nauraann,  loc.  cit.,  viii,  p.  327. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  261 

sight/'  says  N"aumann,*  "  and  has  a  quality  of  stateli- 
ness  when  a  pair  of  storks  in  fine  weather  and  at  the 
beginning  of  their  pairing  time,  for  then  they  seem  to  en- 
joy it  most,  circle  up  in  the  air  higher  and  ever  higher, 
and  at  the  top  of  the  gigantic  spiral  disappear  in  the 
clouds/'  Whole  flocks  of  cranes  make  these  circles  to- 
gether, when  the  weather  is  fine  and  they  are  not  hur- 
ried. Falcons  and  ravens  rise  in  pairs  to  a  great  height 
and  describe  noble  curves.  Crown  Prince  Kudolf,  of 
Austria,  thus  describes  the  kite:  "In  the  spring,  at 
pairing  time,  some  idea  of  their  powers  of  flight  can  be 
formed.  Exhilarated  by  the  knowledge  of  their  love, 
the  pair  mount  high  in  the  air  and  move  in  circles. 
Suddenly  one  or  the  other  drops,  with  wings  relaxed, 
almost  to  the  water,  skims  along  rapidly  in  broken  lines 
for  a  short  distance,  then  turns  and  hastens  upward  once 
more,  shakes  like  the  kestrel,  and  performs  some  won- 
derful evolutions."  Naumann  says,  referring  to  the 
buzzard:  "It  is  a  treat  to  watch  their  gambols  above 
their  nest  in  fine  weather,  how  the  pair  slowly  circle 
upward  without  moving  their  wings,  the  male  gradually 
outstripping  his  mate.  He  then  lets  himself  descend 
from  a  great  height  with  a  peculiar  vibratory  motion 
of  the  wings,  repeating  this  performance  over  and  over 
for  perhaps  a  quarter  of  an  hour." 

The  other  kind  of  movement  play  common  among 
wooing  birds  is  the  dance  performed  either  on  the 
ground  or  among  the  branches  of  trees.  If  skill  in 
flight  serves  to  display  the  male's  beauty  and  agility  to 
his  mate,  dancing  is  better  calculated  to  call  attention 
to  and  emphasize  brilliant  colours  and  advantages  of 
fio:ure. 


*  Nauraann,  ix,  pp.  250,  361. 


2G2  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

I  will  cite  only  a  few  cases,  selecting  those  in  which 
the  motions  seem  to  me  of  an  unmistakably  exciting 
nature.* 

First  I  may  notice  the  crane,  which  is  one  of  the 
most  intelligent  of  birds,  for  in  its  actions  we  can  see 
clearly  ]iow  genuine  courtship  may  become  playful. 

To  corroborate  my  statement  about  the  intelligence 
of  cranes  I  give  this  description :  "  Herr  von  Seiffertitz 
had  a  crane  that  he  captured  when  young  and  downy. 
He  was  allowed  the  freedom  of  the  premises,  and  wdien 
he  was  a  year  old  followed  his  master  for  long  walks, 
separated  quarrelling  animals,  went  to  pasture  with  the 
herds,  drove  in  young  cattle  that  strayed,  turned  away 
beggars,  and  quieted  restive  horses.  When  he  was  hun- 
gry he  went  to  the  window  and  called,  and  if  his  water 
was  not  fresh  he  threw  it  out  and  called  for  more.  He 
had  a  special  liking  for  the  bull,  visited  him  in  his  stall, 
kept  flies  off  him,  answered  when  he  low^ed,  and  accompa- 
nied him  to  the  meadow,  dancing  about  him  at  a  pru- 
dent distance,  and  stopping  now  and  then  to  make 
ridiculous  bows.  If  his  master  scolded  him,  the  crane 
stood  in  the  most  dejected  attitude,  with  his  head 
bovv-ed  down  to  the  ground."  f  That  an  animal  of  such 
intelligence  should  dance  purely  to  amuse  himself  is 
not  at  all  surprising.  Brehm  says:  "The  crane  de- 
lights, when  in  the  mood  for  it,  in  vigorous  leaps,  excited 

*  A  third  kind  of  movement  play  wouki  be  the  skilled  swim- 
ming? of  aquatic  birds,  but  of  this  I  know  but  one  example  in 
literature.  Female  wild  ducks,  just  before  pairing,  swim  around 
their  mates,  nodding  their  heads  and  quacking  loudly  (Naumann, 
Naturgeschichte  der  Vogel  Deutschlands,  xi,  p.  600).  I  have  also 
seen  a  pair  of  swans  sporting.  Tliey  would  dip  their  heads  deep 
down  in  the  water  together,  and  whpn  thov  drew  them  up  the  neck 
of  one  would  often  be  Iving  across  that  of  the  other. 

f  Lenz,  Gemeinniitzige  Xaturgeschichte,  ii,  p.  312. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  263 

gesturing,  and  strange  positions.  He  twists  his  neck, 
spreads  his  wings,  and  regularly  dances;  sometimes  he 
stoops  repeatedly  in  rapid  succession,  spreads  his  wings, 
and  runs  swiftly  back  and  forth,  expressing  in  every 
possible  way  unbounded  joyousness,  but  through  it  all 
he  is  always  graceful,  always  beautiful."  *  "  The  pea- 
cock crane  stands  on  a  sand  bank  and  begins  to  dance 
at  the  slightest  provocation,  sometimes  nothing  more 
than  the  fact  that  he  has  stepped  on  a  hillock.  The 
dancer  often  springs  as  high  as  a  metre  from  the  ground, 
spreads  his  wings  and  sets  his  feet  down  mincingly. 
I  do  not  know  whether  both  sexes  dance,  but  am  in- 
clined to  think  that  it  is  only  the  male."  Tame  birds 
of  this  kind  welcome  their  friends  in  a  similar  way.f 

"  Visitors  to  zoological  gardens  have  probably  no- 
ticed that  the  cranes  begin  to  dance  when  the  music 
strikes  up."  The  one  described  above  danced  around 
his  favourite  bull.  Another  made  the  most  ludicrous 
bounds  before  a  mirror.J;  We  can  hardly  doubt  that 
the  various  movements  described  were  originally  con- 
nected with  courtship,  for  they  are  such  as  characterize 
that  period  in  the  whole  world  of  birds,  but  they  have 
apparently  become  to  the  crane  the  expression  of  general 
well-being.  And  since  he  is  so  intelligent  we  may 
well  suppose  that  he  takes  pleasure  in  going  through 
them — that  is,  that  he  is  playing. 

The  ostrich  struts  before  his  mate  with  wings  un- 
furled and  lowered,  sometimes  runs  very  fast,  making 

*  See  XauTTiann,  ix,  p.  362,  who  also  regards  these  movements 
as  courtship  phenomena:  so  we  have  here  a  very  clear  illustration 
of  their  production  by  association  without  that  sexual  excitement 
which  at  first  must  have  occasioned  them. 

f  Xaumann  g:ives  a  similar  description  of  the  stork,  ix,  p.  25G. 

t  Scheitlin,  Thierseelenkunde,  ii,  p.  76. 
19 


264  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

three  or  four  sharp  turns  with  iniraitable  skill,  then 
checks  his  pace  and  marches  proudly  back  again,  to 
repeat  the  sport. 

According  to  Liebe's  description  of  the  lapwing, 
he  does  not  go  directly  to  the  female  after  his  exhibi- 
tion of  flying,  but  makes  eyes  at  her  in  the  funniest  way, 
skipping  now  to  the  right,  now  to  the  left,  and  making 
deep  bows  with  his  head  held  on  one  side.  "  At  this 
she  will  rise  and  stir  about  a  little  and  begin  a  soft 
twittering  which  seems  to  delight  her  mate,  who  gives 
expression  to  his  warmth  of  feeling  by  running  a  few 
steps  nearer  and  standing  while  he  throws  a  grass  blade 
or  bit  of  stone  behind  him,  which  seems  to  be  the  sig- 
nal for  beginning  the  game  anew."  Brehm  says  that 
the  sportive  heathcock  "holds  his  tail  upright  and 
fan-shaped,  his  head  and  neck,  on  which  the  feathers 
are  erected,  outstretched,  and  drags  his  wings.  He  leaps 
from  side  to  side,  sometimes  circles,  and  finally  plunges 
his  bill  deep  in  the  ground.  The  condor  spreads  his 
wings,  bends  his  neck  stifliy,  and  turns  slowly  with  little 
tripping  steps  and  trembling  wings.  "  In  North  Amer- 
ica," says  Darwin,  "  large  numbers  of  a  grouse,  the 
Tetrao  phasiaiiellus,  meet  every  morning  during  the 
breeding  season  on  a  selected  level  spot,  and  here  they 
run  round  and  round  in  a  circle  of  about  twenty  feet 
in  diameter,  so  that  the  ground  is  worn  quite  bare,  like 
a  fairy  ring.  In  these  partridge  dances,  as  they  are 
called  by  the  hunters,  the  birds  assume  the  strangest 
attitudes  and  run  round,  some  to  the  left  and  some  to 
the  right."  * 

I  believe  I  am  right  in  assuming  that  such  dancing 
motions  are  not  only  the  means  of  displaying  the  colours 

*  Descent  of  Man,  ii,  p.  74. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  265 

of  the  bird's  plumage,  but,  independently  of  that,  pro- 
duce excitation.  If  a  human  example  is  allowable,  the 
effect  of  throwing  one  hip  forward  is  suggestive  of 
what  I  mean.*  That  the  Greeks  understood  this  is 
proved  by  the  "  line  of  Praxiteles,''  which  gave  to  Greek 
sculpture  a  certain  sensuous  charm  while  preserving  its 
chaste  severity. 

I  pass  by  the  lower  animals,  though  an  example 
given  above  from  fishes  seems  to  indicate  that  they,  too, 
are  playful  during  courtship.  On  the  whole  it  seems 
probable,  as  I  said  above,  that  most  of  the  "courtship 
arts''  were  simply  excitation  reflexes.  Since  they  are 
influential  in  stimulating  the  female,  they  were  favoured 
by  natural  selection  and  rendered  constantly  more  pow- 
erful and  complicated,  until  they  became  full  instincts. 
This  is  true  even  in  such  exceptional  cases  as  those  of  the 
butterfly  and  the  spider.  It  is  only  to  animals  with  a 
high  degree  of  intellectual  development  that  we  can  even 
hypothetically  attribute  pleasure  in  their  movements  for 
themselves,  the  wish  to  accomplish  something,  or  the 
desire  to  make  a  display,  in  addition  to  the  habitual  re- 
flexes of  courtship,  so  that  in  the  midst  of  the  real  exer- 
cise of  instinct  the  voice  of  play  would  rise  as  a  psychic 
overtone ;  or,  as  James  would  say,  would  form  a  psychic 
fringe.    Such  genuine  play  as  that  of  youth  it  can  not  be. 

3.  Courtship  ly  means  of  the  Display  of  Unusual  or 
Beautiful  Forms  and  Colours. 

After  what  has  gone  before,  it  is  sufficient  to  say 
here  that  in  this  case,  too,  the  display  is  playful  only 


*  Zola  furnishes  vouchers  for  this.  See  especially  Nana's  ap- 
pearance in  the  theatre.  There  may  be  some  sugrjestion  of  this  in 
the  pleasure  of  the  waltz. 


266  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

when  the  animal  making  it  is  intelligent  enongh  to  be 
conscious  of  self-exhibition.  "  With  mammals/'  says 
Darwin,  "  the  male  appears  to  win  the  female  more 
through  the  laws  of  battle  than  through  the  display 
of  his  charms,"  *  but  he  adds  a  long  list  of  sexual  stim- 
uli. Nowhere,  however,  do  I  recall  a  description  by 
him  or  another  where  a  mammal  attempted  to  draw 
attention  to  his  excited  condition  by  movements,  with 
the  single  exception  of  monkeys.  Indeed,  Darwin  says 
that  proof  is  wanting  that  the  males  of  mammals  make 
any  effort  to  display  their  charms  to  the  female,  f 

But  perhaps  the  actions  described  in  the  section  on 
courtship  arts,  such  as  the  dog's  erect  carriage,  his  wav- 
ing tail  and  stiff  legs,  are  partly  to  show  his  physical 
advantages,  and  we  read  how  the  stone  marten  raised 
his  hair,  and  the  fish  otter  played  with  his  eel-like  tail. 
I  have  often  noticed,  too,  that  dogs  who  wish  to  be  es- 
pecially friendly  have  a  way  of  turning  their  back  to 
the  stranger,  which  is  like  the  habit  of  the  apes,  for  the 
dog  often  has  striking  tufts  of  hair  on  his  hind  parts. 

We  now  take  up  birds  again.  All  the  different  mo- 
tions that  Ave  have  seen  described  are  useful  to  the  bird 
in  displaying  his  form  and  colouring.  When  the  reed 
warbler  takes  his  downward  plunge  in  the  air  his  feath- 
ers are  inflated  till  he  looks  like  a  ball.  The  beauti- 
ful Madagascar  weaver  bird  flutters  like  a  bat,  with 
trembling  wings,  about  the  modest  gray  female.  Xau- 
mann  says  of  the  blue  titmouse:  "Hopping  busily 
about  in  the  bushes,  swaying  on  slender  sprays,  etc.,  the 
male  dallies  with  his  mate,  and  at  last  floats  from  one 
tree  top  to  another,  sometimes  forty  feet  away,  where  the 


*  Descent  of  Man,  chap.  xvii. 
f  Loc.  cit. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  267 

widespread  wings  are  not  folded  and  all  his  feathers  are 
so  ruffled  up  that  he  looks  much  larger  and  is  hardly  rec- 
ognisable. But  he  can  not  sustain  a  horizontal  flight, 
and  each  time  sinks  perceptibly  lower.  This  kind  of 
floating  is  not  usual  with  the  titmouse,  and  therefore  the 
more  remarkable."  * 

The  hoopoe  spreads  his  fine  head  decoration  in 
flying  as  a  fan  is  opened  and  shut.  The  striped  snipe 
inflates  his  feathers  and  flies  slowly  with  languid  strokes, 
looking  much  more  like  an  owl  than  one  of  his  own  kind. 

The  tumbling  about  in  the  air  common  with  so 
many  birds,  as  well  as  the  upward  flight  and  quick  de- 
scent, also  serves  to  show  off  their  colouring.  Dance 
motions  are,  however,  best  of  all  calculated  to  display 
their  charms  advantageously,  and  the  vanity  displayed 
by  many  birds  during  these  performances  strengthens 
the  probability  of  self-consciousness.  Indeed,  when  we 
reflect  how  early  a  child  shows  an  appreciation  of  any 
expression  of  admiration,  how  vain  the  dog  is  of  his 
tricks,  and  the  parrot  of  talking,  this  supposition  does 
not  seem  unwarranted.  The  vanity  of  peacocks  is  pro- 
verbial. "  He  evidently  wishes  for  a  spectator  of  some 
kind,"  says  Darwin,  "and,  as  I  have  often  seen,  will 
show  off  his  finery  before  poultry,  or  even  pigs." 

Gesner  remarked,  long  ago,  in  his  Historia  Anima- 
lium,  that  the  peacock  admired  its  own  beautiful  plumage 
and  at  once  displays  his  glowing  feathers  when  any  one 
admires  them  and  calls  them  beautiful.  Bennett  says 
the  bird  of  paradise  looks  knowing  and  dances  about 
when  a  visitor  approaches  his  cage.  He  will  not  en- 
dure the  least  spot  on  his  feathers,  and  often  spreads 
his  wings  and  tail  to  gaze  upon  his  finery.     "Espe- 

*  Naturgeschichte  der  Vogel  Deutschlands,  iv,  p.  68. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

cially  in  the  morning  does  lie  try  to  display  all  his 
glory.  He  busies  himself  in  arranging  his  plumage. 
The  beautiful  side  feathers  are  spread  out  and  drawn 
softly  through  his  bill,  the  short  feathers  disposed  to 
the  best  possible  advantage  and  shaken  lightly,  then 
he  raises  the  splendid  long  plumes  that  float  like  down 
over  his  back  and  spreads  them  as  much  as  possible. 
All  this  accomplished,  he  runs  back  and  forth  with 
quick  bounds,  vanity  and  delight  in  his  own  beauty  ex- 
pressed in  his  every  movement.  He  examines  himself 
from  above  and  below,  and  gives  vent  to  his  satisfaction 
in  loud  cries,  that  are,  alas!  only  harsh  noises.  After 
each  exhibition  it  seems  to  be  necessary  to  rearrange 
his  feathers,  but  this  labour  never  tires  him,  and  he 
spreads  them  again  and  again,  as  a  vain  woman  would 
do." 

Let  us  now  notice  some  birds  during  courtship 
itself. 

The  male  Bupicola  crocea,  says  Darwin,  is  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  birds  in  the  world,  of  a  splendid  orange 
colour,  and  with  finely  shaped  and  marked  feathers. 
The  female  is  a  greenish  brown  with  red  shading,  and 
has  a  very  small  comb.  Sir  E.  Schomburgh  has  de- 
scribed the  wooing  of  these  birds.  He  happened  upon 
a  rendezvous  where  ten  males  and  two  females  were 
present.  A  space  of  about  four  or  five  metres  in  di- 
ameter was  cleared  as  if  by  human  hands,  and  every 
blade  of  grass  removed.  One  male  danced  to  the  evi- 
dent delight  of  the  others;  he  stretched  his  wings, 
raised  his  head,  and  spread  his  tail  like  a  fan,  strutting 
proudly  till  he  was  tired  and  then  was  relieved  by  an- 
other. 

Sometimes  a  dozen  or  more  birds  of  paradise  collect 
in  full  feather,  where  they  hold  a  "  dance  meeting,"  as 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  269 

the  natives  call  it.  They  flutter  about,  spread  their 
wings,  erect  their  splendid  plumes,  vibrating  them  till, 
as  Wallace  remarks,  the  whole  tree  top  seems  made  of 
waving  feathers. 

Pheasants  not  only  spread  and  erect  their  fine  crests 
at  such  times,  but  they  turn  sideways  toward  the  female 
on  whichever  side  she  happens  to  be  standing,  and  in- 
cline the  beautiful  outspread  tail  in  the  same  direction. 
When  a  peacock  wishes  to  make  a  display  he  stands 
opposite  the  female,  spreads  his  tail  and  raises  it  per- 
pendicularly, at  the  same  time  showing  to  advantage 
his  beautiful  neck  and  breast.  Those,  however,  that 
have  dark  breasts  and  eye  marks  all  over  the  body 
display  their  tails  a  little  diagonally  and  stand  in  such 
a  position  that  the  eye  marks  are  clearly  seen  by  the 
female.  In  whatever  direction  she  turns  the  outspread 
wings  and  tail  held  diagonally  always  confront  her. 

It  seems  undeniable  that  there  is  in  this  kind  of 
courtship  a  conscious  display  of  personal  charms,  and 
therefore  play.* 

Following  Darwin^s  account,  we  now  turn  to  birds 
of  more  sober  plumage.  The  bullfinch  approaches  his 
mate  from  the  front,  inflating  the  brilliant  red  feathers 
on  his  breast  so  that  they  are  much  more  conspicuous 
than  usual,  and  twisting  his  black  tail  in  a  comical 
manner.  The  common  linnet  inflates  its  rose-coloured 
breast  and  spreads  its  brown  wings  and  tail,  showing 
the  white  border  to  the  best  advantage.f  The  gold- 
finch behaves  difl:erently  from  other  finches.     His  wings 

*  Darwin,  Descent  of  Man,  ii,  pp.  82-94 ;  see  also,  on  p.  98.  the 
strangle  behaviour  of  the  Argus  pheasant  (described  by  T.  W. 
Wood). 

•f-  Darwin,  however,  cautions  us  ajrainst  supposing  that  spread- 
ing the  wings  is  solely  for  the  purpose  of  displaying  the  colouring. 


270  THE   PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

are  fine;  black  shoulders  with  dark  pointed  quills  picked 
out  with  white  and  gold.  "Weir  confirms  Darwin's  state- 
ment that  no  other  British  finch  turns  from  side  to 
side  as  he  does  in  courtship,  not  even  the  close-related 
siskin,  for  it  would  not  enhance  his  beauty.  The  com- 
mon pigeon  has  iridescent  breast  feathers,  and  there 
fore  inflates  them,  but  the  Australian  pigeon  (Ocyphaps 
lophotes),  that  has  handsome  bronze  wings,  acts  quite 
differently.  Standing  before  the  female  he  sinks  his 
head  almost  to  the  ground,  raises  his  widespread  tail, 
and  half  opens  his  wings,  then  he  lets  his  body  rise  and 
fall  with  a  slow  motion  that  causes  the  glittering  feath- 
ers to  shine  brilliantly  in  the  sunshine.* 

Karl  Miiller  tells  us  that  the  red  wagtail  prostrates 
himself  at  the  feet  of  his  bride,  flapping  his  wings  and 
dragging  the  outspread  fan  of  his  tail  on  the  ground. 
The  crossbill  perches  on  the  highest  limb  of  the  tallest 
tree,  singing  lustily  and  whirling  about  incessantly  the 
while.  The  snipe  ardently  draws  near  his  mate  with 
inflated  feathers,  lowered  wings,  and  tail  raised  and 
spread.  When  the  cuckoo  feels  the  stirrings  of  love 
he  "  inflates  his  throat  feathers,  hangs  his  wings,  moves 
his  partly  spread  tail  up  and  down,  turns  from  side 
to  side  and  bows  to  his  lady  as  often  as  he  cries 
^  Cuckoo.'  "  t  The  orange  bird  pursues  his  mate  in  ap- 
parent wrath  and  then  bows  and  scrapes  before  her. 
Brehm  describes  the  pairing  of  golden-crested  wrens 
very  beautifully:  "  The  male  inflates  his  crest  until  it 
forms  a  splendid  crown,  in  which  the  black  stripes  ex- 
tend far  down  the  side  of  his  head  without  concealing 
the  white  eye  marks  and  displaying  the  flame-coloured 
parting  most  advantageously."  J 

*  Descent  of  jMan,  Joe.  cif.  f  Naumann.  v.  p.  216. 

X  Chr.  L.  Brehm,  Beitrage  zur  Vogelkunde,  ii,  p.  138. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  271 

Even  if  one  fully  agrees  with  Mr.  Wallace  that  sex- 
ual selection  does  not  actually  create  the  beauty  of 
bird  plumage,  it  is  hardly  possible  in  the  face  of  facts 
like  these  to  deny  that  at  least  those  developments  of 
colour  and  other  ornamentation  which  transcend  the 
uses  of  concealment  and  warning  must  have  some  con- 
nection with  the  sexual  life.  The  substitution  of  uncon- 
scious for  conscious  choice  makes  this  connection  clearer, 
but  the  acceptance  of  the  theory  herein  previously  devel- 
oped— namely,  that  of  the  importance  to  race  life  of 
feminine  coyness  and  the  necessity  on  the  part  of  males 
to  overcome  it  by  such  means — does  away  with  all  choice, 
and  relegates  the  whole  subject  to  the  sphere  of  natural 
selection. 

4.  Courtsliip  hy  means  of  Noises  and  Tones. 

Here,  too,  the  view  set  forth  in  the  last  section  is 
applicable.  The  ordinary  sounds  emitted  by  the  excited 
male  probably  have  the  same  effect  as  the  husky  voice  and 
laboured  breathing  of  civilized  man.*  They  furnish  ma- 
terial for  the  working  of  selection  in  the  production  of 
courtship  arts  which  are  later  used  also  for  other  pur- 
poses. Among  the  higher  animals  imitation  often  plays 
a  part  as  important  as  that  of  selection — indeed,  it  some- 
times supplants  the  latter  in  cases  where  hereditary 
courtship  arts  are  rudimentary  only,  each  individual  ac- 
quiring the  finer  points  by  imitation.  We  may  suppose, 
for  example,  that  many  3^oung  birds  learn  from  their  eld- 
ers that  they  must  fight  for  a  mate,  and  in  turn  teach  it 
to  the  next  generation.  By  this  method  an  art  would 
be  acquired  founded  on  an  instinctive  basis,  but  not  in- 

*  The  writers  of  a  certain  class  of  modern  novels  excel  in  the 
portrayal  of  snch  phenomena. 


272  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

herited  by  the  individual — similar,  cwn  grano  sails,  to 
the  fine  arts  of  savages.  For  by  outgrowing  instinct 
they  reach,  through  teaching  and  imitation,  a  certain 
degree  of  development  to  which  they  remain  constant  so 
long  as  the  conditions  remain  constant,  but  would  at 
once  fall  back  to  the  level  of  hereditary  instinct  were  the 
individuals  to  lose  their  model.  The  more  important  the 
part  play  by  imitation,  the  more  probability  of  a  playful 
expression  of  the  activity  in  question.* 

I  again  pass  over  the  lower  orders,  although  they 
offer  much  that  is  of  the  greatest  interest.  There  is 
very  little  that  deserves  to  be  called  vocal  art  in  the 
courtship  of  mammals;  most  of  them  confine  their 
acoustic  demonstrations  to  a  passionate  howl,  roar, 
shriek,  or  growl,  or  to  the  simple  call.  The  perform- 
ance of  howling  apes,  however,  is  a  notable  exception, 
for  they  collect  in  companies  and  frequently  give  con- 
certs that  last  for  hours.  Hensel  says:  "In  summer, 
when  the  beams  of  the  morning  sun  have  dispelled  the 
night  mists,  the  howling  apes  leave  the  shelter  of  the 
thickly  leaved  trees  to  which  they  have  clung  all  night. 
After  satisfying  their  hunger  they  have  time  before  the 
heat  of  the  day  to  indulge  in  social  pleasures  which,  as 
befits  animals  so  serious,  are  free  from  the  unseemliness 
that  characterizes  those  of  many  of  their  relations. 
They  now  repair  to  the  shelter  of  some  gigantic  mon- 
arch of  the  forest  whose  limbs  offer  facilities  for  walk- 
ing exercises.     The  head  of  the  family  appropriates  one 


*  See  Weismann  in  the  Deutschen  Unndschau,  October,  1889, 
p.  63 :  "A  young  finch,  brought  up  alone,  sings  untaught  the  note 
of  his  kind,  but  never  so  well  as  those  that  have  had  the  advantage 
of  parental  example.  He,  too,  is  governed  by  a  tradition;  the 
essentials  only  of  the  finch's  song  are  inherent  in  his  organism,  are 
born  in  him." 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  273 

of  these  branches  and  advances  along  it  seriously,  with 
elevated  tail,  while  the  others  group  themselves  about 
him.  Soon  he  gives  forth  soft  single  notes,  as  the  lion 
likes  to  do  when  he  tests  the  capacity  of  his  lungs. 
This  sound,  which  seems  to  be  made  by  drawing  the 
breath  in  and  out,  becomes  deeper  and  in  more  rapid 
succession  as  the  excitement  of  the  singer  increases. 
At  last,  when  the  highest  pitch  is  reached,  the  inter- 
vals cease  and  the  sound  becomes  a  continuous  roar, 
and  at  this  point  all  the  others,  male  and  female,  join 
in,  and  for  fully  ten  seconds  at  a  time  the  awful  chorus 
sounds  through  the  quiet  forest.  At  its  close  the  leader 
begins  again  with  the  detached  sounds.^^  How  can  we 
explain  this  strange  concert?  This  description  gives 
the  impression  that  it  is  merely  a  social  game,  but  how 
did  the  animal  acquire  the  instrument  on  which  he 
plays,  the  throat  thickened  as  with  a  goitre?  A.  von 
Humboldt  says:  "  The  small  American  monkey  chirps 
like  a  sparrow,  having  simply  an  ordinary  hyoid  bone, 
but  that  of  the  great  ape  is  a  large  bony  drum.  The 
upper  part  of  the  larynx  has  six  compartments,  in  which 
the  voice  is  formed.  Two  of  these  compartments  are 
nest-shaped  and  very  like  the  lower  lar3mx  of  birds. 
The  doleful  howl  of  the  ape  is  caused  by  the  air  stream- 
ing through  this  great  drum,  and  when  we  see  how 
large  an  instrument  it  is  we  are  no  longer  surprised  at 
the  strength  and  range  of  this  animal's  voice,  or  that 
it  gives  him  the  name  he  bears."  Such  a  structure  as 
this  must  serve  some  useful  purpose,  and  the  idea  of 
courtship  suggests  itself  as  the  probable  use,  in  the  first 
instance,  since  it  outweighs  all  other  causes  for  excite- 
ment. Then  its  exercise  may  have  come  by  association 
to  be  purely  playful. 

Scheitlin  says  of  the  cat:  "  Their  pairing  time  is 


274  THE   PLAY   OF  ANIMALS. 

interesting.  The  male  is  coy,  the  females  who  visit  him 
sit  around  him  while  he  growls  in  a  deep  hase.  The 
others  sing  tenor,  alto,  soprano,  and  every  possible  part 
as  the  chorus  mounts,  constantly  growing  wilder.  They 
shake  their  fists  in  one  another^s  faces,  and  will  not  let 
even  him  whom  they  have  come  to  visit  approach  them. 
On  clear  moonlight  nights  they  make  more  noise  than 
the  wildest  urchins."  This  certainly  seems  something 
more  than  mere  sportiveness,  and  must  unquestionably 
be  set  down  as  connected  with  courtship.  Darwin  re- 
gards the  cry  of  the  howling  ape  in  the  same  light,  and 
in  addition  has  this  to  say  about  the  Hylobates  agilis: 
"  This  gibbon  has  an  extremely  loud  but  musical  voice. 
Mr.  Waterhouse  states :  ^  It  appeared  to  me  that  in 
ascending  and  descending  the  scale,  the  intervals  were 
always  exactly  half  tones,  and  I  am  sure  that  the  high- 
est note  was  the  exact  octave  to  the  lowest.  The  qual- 
ity of  the  notes  is  very  musical,  and  I  do  not  doubt 
that  a  good  violinist  would  be  able  to  give  a  correct 
idea  of  the  gibbon's  composition,  excepting  as  regards 
its  loudness.'  *  This  gibbon  is  not  the  only  spe- 
cies in  the  genus  which  sings,  for  my  son,  Francis  Dar- 
win, attentively  listened  in  the  zoological  gardens  to  a 
Hylohates  leuciscus  which  sang  a  cadence  of  three 
notes  in  true  musical  intervals  and  with  clear  musical 
tones.  It  is  a  more  surprising  fact  that  certain  rodents 
utter  musical  sounds.  Singing  mice  have  often  been 
mentioned  and  exhibited,  but  imposture  has  commonly 
been  suspected.  \Ve  have,  however,  at  last  a  clear  ac- 
count by  a  well-known  observer,  the  Rev.  S.  Lockwood, 
of  the  musical  powers  of  an  American  species,  the  Hes- 
peromys  cognatus,  belonging  to  a  genus  distinct  from 

*  Darwin  adds  that  Owen  confirmed  this  observation. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  275 

that  of  the  English  mouse.  This  little  animal  was  kept 
in  confinement,  and  the  performance  was  repeatedly 
heard.  In  one  of  the  two  chief  songs  ^  the  last  bar  would 
frequently  be  prolonged  to  two  or  three,  and  she  would 
sometimes  change  from  C  sharp  and  D  to  C  natural  and 
D,  then  warble  on  these  two  notes  a  while  and  wind  up 
with  a  quick  chirp  on  C  sharp  and  D.  The  distinction 
between  the  semitones  was  very  marked  and  easily  ap- 
preciable to  a  good  ear.' ''  * 

Coming  again  to  birds  we  first  note  their  charac- 
teristic song.  Brehm  and  Lenz  tell  us  of  finches: 
"  Their  song  is  called  a  strophe  because  it  consists  of  one 
or  two  rhythmic  measures,  given  with  great  persistence 
and  sometimes  with  rapidity.  To  this  the  finch  owes 
its  popularity  among  fanciers,  who  distinguish  a  great 
number  of  such  strophes  and  give  them  each  a  name 
until  their  study  has  become  quite  a  science,  involved  in 
much  mystery  to  the  uninitiated;  for  while  there  is 
little  difference  between  them  to  the  unpractised  ear, 
these  people  distinguish  twenty  or  more  distinct  strophes. 
According  to  Lenz,  one  kind  of  snipe  has  nineteen 
strophes  when  he  is  free.  The  syllables  of  a  good  double 
strophe  are  as  follows:  Zizozozizizizizizizizirreuzipiah 
tototototototozissskutziah.  The  nightingale's  song  con- 
tains from  twenty  to  twenty-four  distinct  strophes,  and 
according  to  Xaumann's  fine  description,  "  is  character- 
ized by  a  fulness  of  tone,  a  harmony  and  variety  that  are 
found  in  the  song  of  no  other  bird,  so  that  she  is  rightly 
called  the  queen  of  songsters.  With  indescribable  deli- 
cacy, soft  flutelike  notes  alternate  with  trembling  ones, 
melting  tones  with  those  that  are  joyful,  and  melancholy 
strains  with  ecstatic  outbursts.     If  a  soft  note  begins 

*  Cf.  Darwin,  Descent  of  Man,  ii,  p.  263. 


276  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

the  song,  gaining  in  strength  to  the  climax  and  then 
dying  away  at  the  end,  the  next  strophe  will  be  a  series 
of  notes  given  with  hearty  relish,  and  the  third  a  melan- 
choly strain  melting,  with  purest  flute  notes,  into  a 
gayer  one.  Pauses  between  the  strophes  heighten  the 
effect  of  these  enchanting  melodies;  they  and  the 
measured  tempo  must  be  noted,  fully  to  comprehend 
their  beauty.  We  are  amazed  at  first  at  the  num- 
ber and  variety  of  these  bewitching  tones,  then  at  their 
fulness  and  power  coming  from  a  creature  so  small. 
It  seems  almost  a  miracle  that  there  can  be  such 
strength  in  the  muscles  of  its  tiny  throat."  *  Beck- 
stein  has  attempted  to  write  the  syllables  of  its  strophes 
thus : f 

Tiuu-tiuu-tiuu-tiuu, 

Spe,  tiuu,  squa, 

Tio,  tio,  tio,  tio,  tio,  tio,  tio,  tix, 

Qutio  qutio  qutio  qutio, 

Zquo  zquo  zquo  zquo, 

Tsii,  tsii,  tsii,  tsii,  tsii,  tsli,  tsii,  tsli,  tsii,  tsi. 

Quoror,  tiu,  zqua,  pipiqui, 

Zozozozozozozozozozozozo  Zirrhading ! 

Tsisisi  tsisisisisisisisi, 

Zorre,  zorre,  zorre,  zorre  hi; 

Tzatn,  tzatn,  tzatn,  tzatn,  tzatn,  tzatn,  tzatn,  zi, 

Dlo,  dlo,  dlo,  dlo,  dlo,  dlo,  dlo,  dlo,  dlo, 

Quio  tr  rrrrrrrr  itz 

Lii  lii  lii,  ly,  ly,  ly,  li  li  li, 

Quio,  didl  li  lulyli. 

Ha  glirr,  giirr,  quipio! 

Qui,  qui,  qui,  qui,  qi  qi  qi  qi,  gi  gi  gi  gi ; 

*  Xaumann,  ii,  p.  381. 

f  J.  M.  Bechstein,  Naturgeschichte  der  Stubenvogel,  p.  321. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  277 

GoUgollgoUgoll  gia  hahadoi, 

Quigi  horr  ha  diadiadillsi ! 

Hezezezezezezezezezezezezezezezezeze  quarrhozehoi ; 

Quia,  quia,  quia,  quia,  quia,  quia,  quia,  quia  ti: 

Qi  qi  qi  jo  jo  jo  jojojojo  qi— 

Lii  ly  li  le  la  la  15  lo  didl  jo  quia 

Higaigaigaigaigaigaigai  gai  gaigai, 

Quior  ziozio  pi.* 

Thrushes,  unlike  most  birds,  sit  still  when  they  sing, 
and  the  songs,  too,  have  a  soothing  quality.  They 
choose  the  summit  of  tall  trees  for  their  perch,  as  if  to 
avoid  interruption. -f- 

The  song  of  the  blackbird  that  perches,  on  fine 
evenings,  on  the  topmost  gable  of  a  roof  or  the  very 
highest  branch  of  a  tree  and  lifts  his  deep  and  yet  clear 
and  joyous  voice  is  perhaps  the  most  aesthetically  effect- 
ive of  all.  Audubon  says  of  the  cardinal  bird:  "His 
song  is  at  first  loud  and  clear  and  suggestive  of  the  best 
tones  of  a  flageolet,  but  it  sinks  lower  and  lower  until 
it  dies  away  entirely.  During  his  love  time  this  noble 
singer  produces  his  notes  with  more  force,  and  seems 
conscious  of  his  strength;  he  swells  his  breast,  spreads 

*  Nauraann  found  quite  a  different  song  common  in  his  neigh- 
bourhood, and,  indeed,  the  nightingale's  song  varies  very  much, 
which  goes  to  prove  that  in  so  highly  developed  an  art  tradition 
and  imitation  play  an  i^nportant  part.  But  individual  differences, 
too,  are  found  in  their  songs  and  those  of  the  thrush  and  other 
birds.  For  older  imitations  of  the  nightingale,  see  0.  Keller's 
Thiere  des  classischen  Alterthums,  p.  317. 

f  [So  also  does  the  American  mocking-bird,  often  choosing  the 
tip  of  a  lightning-rod.  As  the  song  proceeds  the  notes  come  faster 
and  faster,  until  the  bird  is  lifted  off  the  perch,  thrown  fluttering 
straight  up  in  the  air,  sometimes  to  a  height  of  three  or  four  feet, 
and  falls  again  by  somersaults  to  the  perch,  never  stopping  the 
song. — J.  Mark  Baldwin.] 


278  THE   PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

his  scarlet  tail,  flaps  his  wings,  and  turns  from  side  to 
side  as  if  he  would  express  his  joy  in  the  possession  of 
such  a  voice.  Again  and  again  the  song  is  repeated, 
the  bird  only  pausing  to  get  breath."  Brehm  relates 
of  the  whistling  and  the  scarlet  shrike :  "  The  most 
remarkable  thing  about  these  birds  is  undoubtedly  the 
use  they  make  of  their  song,  which  is,  properly  speak- 
ing, not  a  song  at  all,  being  but  a  single  strain,  sonorous 
as  few  often  repeated  notes  are,  and  common  to  the 
two  sexes.  The  call  of  the  former  consists  of  three, 
rarely  two,  distinct  sounds,  pure  as  a  bell  and  all  with- 
in the  octave,  beginning  with  a  moderately  high  note, 
followed  by  a  deeper  one,  and  concluding  with  one  still 
higher.  These,  like  the  piping  of  the  scarlet  shrike, 
are  peculiar  to  the  male  bird,  but  his  mate  answers 
at  once  with  an  unmusical  cackle  or  chick  which  is 
difficult  to  imitate  or  describe.  The  female  scarlet 
shrike  only  begins  her  cackle  when  her  mate  has  fin- 
ished his  call,  but  the  whistling  shrike  usually  joins 
him  on  the  second  note,  but  both  show  a  surprisingly 
quick  ear,  and  never  keep  him  waiting.  Sometimes  she 
cackles  three  or  four  or  even  six  times  before  the  male 
joins  in,  but  when  he  does  so  the  whole  performance 
begins  over  and  proceeds  in  regular  form.  Several  ex- 
periments have  proved  to  me  that  the  two  sexes  always 
act  together.  I  have  killed  now  a  male  and  now  a  fe- 
male to  make  sure.  "WTien  either  falls  and  is,  of  course, 
silenced,  the  other  anxiously  repeats  the  call  several 
times."  The  Prince  von  Wied  says:  "The  bell  bird, 
both  by  reason  of  its  splendid  white  plumage  and  its 
clear,  loud  voice,  is  one  of  the  attractions  of  a  Brazilian 
forest,  and  is  usually  noticed  at  once  by  a  stranger. 
His  cry  resembles  the  tone  of  a  very  clear  bell,  sounded 
once  and  then  withheld  for  a  long  interval,  or  at  times 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  279 

repeated  rapidly,  in  which  case  it  is  like  a  blacksmith's 
strokes  on  the  anvil."  * 

Brehm  carefully  observed  one  of  these  bell  birds  in 
captivity,  and  describes  minutely  its  wildly  excited  con- 
dition, which  becomes  more  and  more  intense  as  the 
cries  are  repeated:  "  That  he  sometimes  even  seals  these 
love  transports  with  his  death  is  proved  to  me  by  the 
fact  that  the  bell  bird  which  I  was  watching  fell  dead 
from  his  perch  with  his  last  cry."  One  can  hardly 
say  in  this  case  that  the  birds  sing  from  mere  exuberant 
spirits.  Other  birds  show  similar  ecstasies,  notably  the 
black  and  heath  cocks.  The  voice  of  the  former  is 
exceedingly  high  and  is  indescribable  in  words;  their 
cry  is  well  known  to  hunters  and  is  commonly  heard 
in  the  spring.  About  sundown  this  bird  perches  on  a 
tree,  preferably  an  old  beech  or  fir,  that  he  will  return  to 
year  after  year  if  not  disturbed.  At  the  time  when  the 
red  beech  leaves  he  sings  with  only  short  intermissions 
from  the  first  gleam  of  dawn  till  after  sundown.  He 
takes  his  post  on  a  bare,  sturdy  limb,  inflates  his  long 
neck  feathers,  makes  a  wheel  of  his  tail,  drops  his  wings, 
erects  his  plumage,  trips  on  his  toes,  and  rolls  his  eyes 
comically.  At  the  same  time  he  gives  forth  notes  that  are 
at  first  slow  and  detached,  then  quicker  and  more  con- 
nected, until  at  last  a  distinct  beat  can  be  distinguished 
among  the  accompanying  notes,  ending  in  a  long-drawn 
cry,  during  which  the  bird  rolls  his  eyes  in  ecstasy."  f 


*  This  bird  has  a  bill  of  the  most  peculiar  construction.  It  has 
a  flaccid  bag  hanging  below  it  that  is  inflated  during  courtship 
sometimes  to  a  length  of  three  inches,  and  a  perpendicular  posi- 
tion. It  would  be  difficult  to  explain  the  purpose  of  this  append- 
age if  one  did  not  admit  its  connection  with  the  sexual  life.  Ro- 
manes gives  a  description  in  his  Darwin  and  after  Darwin. 

f  F.  von  Tschudi,  Das  Thierleben  der  Alpenwelt,  p.  174. 
20 


280  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

I  need  not  multiply  these  examples.  Enough  has 
been  said  to  show  that  birds  invariably  sing  during 
their  mating  time,  but  not  exclusively  then.  The 
blackcock,  starling,  and  robin  also  sing  out  of  this 
season,  as  well  as  the  water  ouzel,  which  Tschudi  has 
so  beautifully  described,  while  the  wren,  red  linnet,  and 
goldfinch  can  be  heard  all  winter;  the  white-throat,  too, 
sings  all  the  year  round.  Indeed,  it  may  be  that  the 
breeding  time  of  some  birds  is  variable,  as  seems  to  be 
the  case  with  the  water  ouzel,  which,  Tschudi  says,  "does 
not  confine  itself  to  any  particular  month;  the  young 
just  hatched  may  be  seen  even  in  January."  Besides, 
birds  sing  not  only  before  pairing  but  all  through  the 
breeding  time;  in  numberless  cases  the  male  pours  out 
his  sweetest  song  while  his  mate  is  on  the  nest.  This 
is  obviously  play,  rather  than  courtship.  The  duets  * 
that  they  sometimes  produce  together  are  probably  the 
effect  of  heredity;  while  in  other  cases  the  male  song  is 
taken  up  by  imitation  on  the  part  of  the  female.  Hud- 
son says  that  a  singing  female  usually  has  plumage  the 
same  as  her  mate.f  Finally,  there  are  rare  cases  where 
the  male  sings  better  at  other  times  than  during  his 
courtship.  Spencer,  in  his  article  "  On  the  Origin  of 
Music,"  says  this  is  true  of  the  thrush.  |  And  Hudson 
says  of  a  small  yellow  finch  found  in  La  Plata  that  in 
August,  when  the  trees  are  blooming,  a  flock  of  these 
birds  will  appear  in  a  plantation,  perching  on  the  boughs 
and  beginning  a  concert  in  chorus,  "  producing  a  great 

*  Examples  in  Darwin's  Descent  of  Man.  chap.  xii. 

f  The  Naturalist  in  La  Plata,  p.  283. 

X  Mind,  XV  (ISnO).  p.  452,  Spencer  sees  in  this  fact  a  contra- 
diction of  Darwin's  theory.  I  do  not  understand  why,  since  it  is 
so  probable  that  vocal  reflexes  in  ,2:eneral  are  transmitted  by  hered- 
ity, and  so  may  always  be  called  forth  by  other  excitation. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  281 

volume  of  sound  as  of  a  high  wind  when  heard  at  a  dis- 
tance," and  this  takes  place  daily  for  hours  at  a  time. 
But  during  his  courtship  the  male  has  but  "  a  feeble, 
sketchy  music,''  regaining  his  skill  only  after  the  nest 
is  built.  This  is  a  more  valuable  example  than  Spen- 
cer's, for  he  observed  only  a  single  bird  that  may  have 
been  sick  at  the  time  for  pairing,  while  Hudson's  obser- 
vation refers  to  a  whole  species.  Yet  the  phenomenon 
is  too  rare  to  have  any  weight  against  the  overwhelming 
mass  of  evidence  for  the  view  that  song  in  general 
belongs  to  courtship.  It  is  wiser  to  seek  some  special 
explanation  of  these  irregular  cases,  and  also  to  bear  in 
mind  that  "  better  "  and  "  worse  "  are  relative  terms. 
A  song  broken  by  the  restless  motions  of  an  excited 
bird  may  seem  not  so  good  to  the  listener  as  the  same 
strain  produced  when  the  singer  is  quiet  and  his  notes 
are  therefore  louder  and  more  continuous.  There  is 
also  a  possibility  that  song  is  sometimes  supplanted  by 
the  disproportionate  evolution  of  other  courtship  arts — 
the  finch  spoken  of  by  Hudson  has  unusual  powers  of 
flight  and  skill  in  dancing.  However,  I  do  not  profess 
to  find  an  adequate  answer  in  these  suppositions  to  this 
undeniable  difficulty. 

Those  instances  in  which  the  bird  expresses  his  ex- 
citement by  means  of  a  kind  of  instrumental  music, 
instead  of  doing  it  vocally,  are  also  very  remarkable. 
Darwin  has  a  long  series  of  such  examples.  Peacocks 
rattle  the  quills  of  their  tails,  and  birds  of  paradise  do 
the  same  thing,  during  their  courtship.  Woodpeckers 
call  the  females  by  striking  the  bill  very  rapidly  on  dry 
wood,  making  in  this  way  a  sort  of  drumming  sound. 
Turkeycocks  scrape  their  wings  on  the  ground.  Many 
birds  make  a  kind  of  whirring  sound  in  flight;  a  familiar 
instance  is  the  '^  beating  "  of  army  snipes  as  they  mount 


282  THE  PLAY  OF  AXIMALS. 

rapidly  aloft  in  the  eYening.  It  is  eyidently  a  call  to 
the  female,  who  answers  from  the  earth  with  a  "  dick- 
kiih  "  or  "  kiip  ti  kiipp  ti  kiipp/"'  * 

Xaumann  thought  the  flapping  of  storks  connected 
with  courtship,  but  as  I  do  not  consider  these  mani- 
festations playful  I  abstain  from  further  citations,  ex- 
cept in  the  case  of  the  bittern,  which  may  be  said  to 
practise  his  art  playfully  if  the  following  description  is 
to  be  trusted.  Brehm  says:  "  The  peculiar  pairing  call 
of  the  male  bittern  is  like  the  lowing  of  oxen,  and  on 
still  nights  may  be  heard  at  a  distance  of  two  or  three 
kilometres.  It  is  composed  of  a  prelude  and  a  principal 
tone,  and  sounds  something  like  ^Uepnimb't  ^^  ^ 
distance.  It  is  said  that  on  coming  near  the  birds  a 
sound  like  beating  on  water  with  sticks  is  heard.  .  .  . 
The  male  keeps  it  up  almost  constantly;  beginning  at 
twilight  he  is  most  Tociferous  before  midnight,  and 
ceases  at  da^Ti,  only  to  start  up  again,  however,  between 
seven  and  nine  o'clock.  The  observations  of  Count 
Wodzicki  have  confirmed  the  account  of  the  older 
writers.  He  says :  '  The  performer  stands  on  both  feet 
with  his  biU  in  the  water  when  giving  vent  to  this 
extraordinar}^  sound,  which  causes  the  water  to  spurt  up 
all  around.  First  I  heard  Xaumann's  *  17e  '  and  then  the 
bird  raised  his  head  and  looked  behind  him,  but  quick- 
ly plunging  it  in  again  he  produced  such  a  roar  that  I 
was  startled.     I  am  convinced  that  these  tones  which 

*  Diezel's  Niederjagd,  p.  664.  Here,  too,  is  to  be  found  a  histon^ 
of  the  controversy  over  the  oricrin  of  this  sound,  but  unfortunately 
Darwin's  remarks  on  similar  phenomena  are  not  noticed. 

f  Although  he  often  attempted  it.  Xaumann  never  got  a  sight 
of  the  bittern.  "We  may  assume  that  his  "  Uepnimb  "  is  only  a  rough 
approximation  of  the  sound,  which  is  not  transcribnble.  "  It  is  a 
sound,"  say  the  Miillers.  "  that  blends  the  deepest  lowing  of  cattle 
with  water  splashing  and  something  like  sighs." 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  283 

are  loudest  at  their  beginning  are  produced  when  the 
bird  has  his  throat  full  of  water  and  expels  it  with 
great  force.  The  music  went  on,  but  he  did  not  throw 
his  head  back  again,  nor  did  I  hear  the  loud  note  any 
more.  It  seems  to  express  the  highest  pitch  of  excite- 
ment, and  having  given  vent  to  it  he  is  relieved.  After 
an  interval  he  cautiously  raised  his  bill  from  the  water 
and  peered  around,  for  it  seems  that  he  can  not  tear 
himself  away  from  his  charmer.^  *  The  bittern  stands 
in  an  open  space,  where  the  female  can  see  him  during 
his  performance.  The  splash  is  caused  by  his  striking 
the  water  several  times  with  his  bill  before  plunging 
it  in;  other  water  sounds  are  produced  by  the  falling 
drops,  and  the  last  one  by  the  emission  of  what  remains 
in  his  bill.  A  male  disturbed  by  Wodzicki  flew  off  and 
spurted  out  a  considerable  stream  that  had  collected  in 
this  way.^' 

5,  Coquetry  in  the  Female. 

I  have  attempted,  in  the  theoretical  part  of  this 
chapter,  to  show  that  the  instinctive  coyness  of  females 
is  the  most  efficient  means  of  preventing  the  too  early 
and  too  frequent  yielding  to  sexual  impulse.  A  high 
degree  of  excitement  is  necessary  for  both,  but  the  fe- 
male has  an  instinctive  impulse  to  prevent  the  male's 
approach,  which  can  only  be  overcome  by  persistent 
pursuit  and  the  exercise  of  all  his  arts.  This  coyness 
often  seems  like  fear,  and  sometimes  even  like  anger, 
as  in  the  case  of  spiders  and  preying  animals,  but  some- 
times there  is  no  fear  at  all,  the  animal  even  inviting 
the  male's  approach  until  he  shows  some  eagerness,  then 

*  The  happy  female  keeps  near  her  mate,  in  a  crouching:  posi- 
tion and  with  erected  crei^t  and  half-shut  eves,  as  if  bewitched  by 
his  boisterous  wooing  (Miiller,  Thiere  der  Heimath,  ii,  p.  4C9). 


284  THE  PLAY  OF  AXIMALS. 

her  coquetry  manifests  itself  in  alternate  calling  and 
fleeing.  It  is  not  essentially  playful,  for  it  is  a  struggle 
between  opposing  instincts  and  has  a  serious  object, 
but  we  can  easily  see  how  it  becomes  play  when  uncon- 
nected with  the  strong  emotions  of  fear  or  anger — that 
is,  Avhen  it  is  a  sort  of  kittenishness.  Then  the  flight 
and  resistance  of  the  female,  though  they  are  not  play 
pure  and  simple,  take  on  something  of  the  character  of  a 
game  and  temper  the  rough  force  of  instinct. 

As  adequate  descriptions  of  such  playful  coquetry 
are  rare,  I  have  only  a  few  examples  from  the  higher 
animals.  The  Mlillers  describe  as  follows  the  gambols 
of  a  pair  of  squirrels:  "  The  male  comes  near  and  flees, 
grunts  and  whispers,  runs  and  leaps,  approaches  his 
mate  and  leans  against  her;  she  turns  away  and  lures 
him  on,  appears  indifferent  and  then  tries  to  please  him, 
changes  from  momentary  anger  to  frisky  good  humour; 
the  bounds  and  chase  go  on  so  rapidly  that  one  can 
scarcely  follow  their  turns,  and  finds  himself  charmed 
by  the  sight  of  this  artless  sportiveness,  as  graceful  as  it 
is  beautiful.^'  *  "  Another  exquisite  game  may  be  seen  in 
April  and  May,  when  the  pairing  watershrews  carry 
on  their  teasing  chase.  The  fleeing  female  pretends 
to  hide,  crouching  in  mole  holes  and  under  stones, 
roots,  and  rubbish  while  her  mate  looks  for  her.  Qv 
she  skips  out,  throws  herself  in  the  water,  runs  across 
on  the  bottom  and  clambers  to  a  new  place  on  the  other 
side  of  the  brook;  but  he  soon  spies  her  and  follows  in 
her  footsteps.  So  the  game  goes  on,  with  only  rest 
time  enough  for  them  to  eat  in."  f 

The  doe,  in  her  breeding  time,  calls  to  the  buck  in 
clear  tones  that  bring  him  to  her  side  at  once,  then  she. 


*  Thiere  der  Ileiraath,  vol.  i,  p.  196.  f  Ibid.,  p.  280. 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS.  285 

^'  half  in  coyness,  half  in  mischief,  takes  to  flight  at  his 
eager  approach,  makes  toward  an  open  space,  and  runs 
in  a  circle.  The  buck  naturally  follows,  and  the  chase 
grows  hot  and  as  exciting  as  a  race  of  horses  on  a  track. 
To  the  frequent  high  calls  of  the  fleeing  doe  are  added 
the  deep,  short  cries  of  the  panting  buck;  but  suddenly 
the  roguish  doe  disappears  like  a  nymph  into  the 
thicket  near  at  hand,  and  the  bafiled  buck  stands  with 
head  erect  and  ears  thrown  forward;  then  we  see  his 
head  lowered  as  he  catches  the  scent,  and  he  too  van- 
ishes in  the  wood.^'  * 

It  is  a  familiar  fact  that  female  birds  must  be  long 
courted  and  pursued  before  they  yield.  L.  Biichner  has 
collected  some  examples  proving  this.f  Mantegazza 
says :  "  Coquetry  is  not  the  exclusive  prerogative  of  the 
human  female.  Xo  woman  ever  born  could  surpass  the 
abominable  (  !)  refinement  of  cruelty  displayed  by  a 
female  canary  in  her  pretended  resistance  to  her  mate's 
advances.  All  the  countless  devices  of  the  feminine 
world  to  hide  a  Yes  under  a  No  are  as  nothing  compared 
with  the  consummate  coquetry,  the  deceptive  flights,  the 
bitings,  and  thousand  wiles  of  female  animals.'' 

However  mistaken  the  conclusions  here  drawn  from 
this  antagonism  of  sexual  impulse  and  coyness,  the  fact 
undoubtedly  remains  that  coquetry  is  exceedingly  wide- 
spread among  birds.  Thus  the  female  cuckoo  answers 
the  call  of  her  mate  with  an  alluring  laugh  that  ex- 
cites him  to  the  utmost,  but  it  is  long  before  she  gives 
herself  up  to  him.  A  mad  chase  through  tree  tops  en- 
sues, during  which  she  constantly  incites  him  with  that 
mocking  call,  till  the  poor  fellow  is  fairly  driven  crazy. 

*  Thiere  dor  TToimnth.  vol.  i,  p.  429, 

f  Liebe  und  Liebesleben  in  der  Thierwelt,  pp.  39  f. 


286  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

The  female  kingfisher  often  torments  her  devoted 
lover  for  half  a  day,  coming  and  calling  him,  and  then 
taking  to  flight.  But  she  never  lets  him  out  of  her  sight 
the  while,  looking  back  as  she  flies  and  measuring  her 
speed,  and  wheeling  back  when  he  suddenly  gives  up  the 
pursuit.  The  bower  bird  leads  her  mate  a  chase  up  and 
down  their  skilfully  built  pleasure  house,  and  many 
other  birds  behave  in  a  similar  way.  The  male  must 
exercise  all  the  arts  that  have  been  described  in  these 
pages  and  more  before  her  reluctance  is  overcome.  She 
leads  him  on  from  limb  to  limb,  from  tree  to  tree,  eon-' 
stantly  eluding  his  eager  pursuit  until  it  seems  that  the 
tantalizing  change  from  allurement  to  resistance  must 
include  an  element  of  a  mischievous  playfulness. 


^<1 


V 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE    PSYCHOLOGY    OF    AXIMAL    PLAY. 


Although  the  mental  accompaniments  of  play 
have  often  been  referred  to  in  the  preceding  chapters, 
that  mention  was  but  cursory,  and  it  is  necessary,  in 
summing  up,  to  consider  them  more  fully.  First,  then, 
let  us  recall  the  position  reached  in  the  first  two  chap- 
ters, where  the  play  of  young  animals  formed  our  prin- 
cipal problem.  ^Ye  there  said  that  if  this  should  be  ex- 
plained satisfactoril}',  then  adult  play  would  not  offer 
any  great  difficulty,  an  assumption  warranted  by  the  fact 
(treated  of  in  the  third  chapter)  that  all  genuine  play  is 
at  first  youthful  play.  Even  love  play,  which  as  we  have 
found  can  hardly  be  said  to  be  genuine  play,  appears  in 
early  youth,  and  when  the  word  play  is  applied  to  the 
acts  of  grown  animals  at  all  it  is  chiefly  with  reference 
to  those  that  are  experimental — namely,  to  games  of  mo- 
tion, which  are  really  child's  play  furnishing  practice  for 
the  later  exercise  of  important  instincts. 

For  adult  animals  which  are  already  practised  in 
their  plays,  the  Schiller- Spencer  theory  of  surplus 
energy  may  apply,  though  experience  of  the  pleasurable- 
ness  of  play  gained  in  youth  is  of  great  importance  too. 
But  in  youthful  play  the  biological  significance  of  the 
phenomenon — namely,  that  it  relieves  the  brain  from 
the  finely  elaborated  hereditary  tracts  and  so  furthers 

287 


288  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

intellectual  development — becomes  much  more  promi- 
nent than  the  merely  physiological.  Indeed,  we  found  it 
probable  that  surplus  physical  energy  is  not  even  a  con- 
ditio sine  qua  non,  for  in  youth  the  instinct  for  playful 
activity  is  urgent  even  when  there  is  no  surplus  of 
energy.  In  following  out  this  idea  the  psychological  as- 
pect of  the  question  was  touched  upon  only  incidentally, 
and  we  found  the  essential  point  in  the  definition  of  play 
to  be  its  quality  of  practice  or  preparation,  either  with  or 
without  higher  intellectual  accompaniments,  in  distinc- 
tion from  the  serious  exercise  of  instinct.  This  is  a 
great  advance  in  so  far,  but  then  we  often  do  not  know 
whether  even  a  child  is  conscious  that  it  is  only  playing. 
So  it  is  time  to  inquire  in  what  the  mental  accompani- 
ments of  play  consist,  when  they  are  present,  and  it  is 
apparent  from  the  nature  of  the  question  that  its  answer 
must  be  sought  in  the  emotional  life. 

The  feeling  of  pleasure  that  results  from  the  satis- 
faction of  instinct  is  the  primary  psychic  accompani- 
ment of  play.  There  are,  indeed,  instincts  whose  exer- 
cise is  connected  with  decidedly  disagreeable  feelings; 
but  instinctive  activity  as  such  is  usually  pleasurable, 
when  psychic  accompaniments  are  present  at  all.  If  we 
accept  A.  Lehmann's  definition  of  pleasure  as  a  state  of 
temporary  harmony  between  psychic  and  physical  life 
conditions,*  we  may  be  sure  of  its  presence  in  most  in- 
stinctive activity  not  marred  by  the  emotions  of  anger  or 
fear  which  are  sometimes  prominent.  Since  these  hin- 
drances are  not  operative  in  play,  and  since  also  the 
power  of  instinct  is  here  exceptionally  strong,  f  we  may 

*  A.  Lehmann,  Die  Hauptgesetze  des  menschlichen  Gefiihlsle- 
ben,  1892,  p.  150. 

f  P.  Souriau  (Le  plaisir  du  mouveraent.  Revue  Seientifiqne, 
xvii,  p.  365)  says  the  need  of  movement  is  especially  great  in  tho 


THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ANIMAL  PLAY.         2S9 

safely  assume  that  strong  feelings  of  pleasure  accom- 
pany it. 

And,  further,  energetic  action  is  in  itself  a  source 
of  pleasure.  Experiments  made  with  the  d3^namometer, 
sphygmograph,  pneumatograph,  and  plethysmograph 
show  that  pleasure  is  accompanied  by  strengthened  mus- 
cular activit}',  quickened  pulse-beat  and  respiration,  and 
increased  peripheral  circulation.  It  is  not  strange,  then, 
that  the  energetic  activity  of  play  with  its  analogous 
physical  effects  is  connected  with  feelings  of  pleasure. 
P.  Souriau  sa3's :  *"'  \Ylien  we  indulge  in  exercise  that  re- 
quires the  expenditure  of  much  energy  all  our  functions 
are  quickened,  the  heart  beats  more  rapidly,  respiration 
is  increased  in  frequency  and  in  depth,  and  we  experi- 
ence a  feeling  of  general  well-being.  We  are  more  alive 
and  glad  that  we  are.^^  *  Very  rapid  and  lively  emotions 
produce  "  a  sort  of  intoxication  and  giddiness  that  are 
most  delightful."  Besides  these  external  effects  of 
pleasurable  feelings  they  are  accompanied  internally  by 
a  heightened  excitation  of  the  sensor  and  motor  cen- 
tres of  the  cerebrum,  much  like  that  produced  by  con- 
centrated attention — a  fact  which  points  to  the  probable 
explanation  of  the  physiological  side  of  pleasure  by 
means  of  the  only  purely  intellectual  play  of  animals, 
curiosity. 

The  unconscious  connection  of  emotional  accom- 
paniments with  intellectual  activity  is  shown  still  more 
clearly  in  that  joy  in  ability  or  power  which  has  con- 
fronted us  as  the  most  important  psychic  feature  of 
play  throughout  this  whole  treatise. 


yoiinj?  animal,  "because  he  has  to  trv  all  the  movements  which  it 
is  npcps«ary  for  him  to  make  in  later  life." 
*  Ibid. 


290  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

This  feeling  is  first  a  conscious  presentation  to  our- 
selves of  our  personality  as  it  is  emphasized  by  play — a 
psychological  fact  which  Souriau  states  in  the  words 
"  We  are  more  alive,  and  glad  that  we  are."  But  it  is 
more  than  this,  it  is  also  delight  in  the  control  we  have 
over  our  bodies  and  over  external  objects.  Experi- 
mentation in  its  simple  as  well  as  its  more  complicated 
forms  is,  apart  from  its  effect  on  physical  development, 
educative  in  that  it  helps  in  the  formation  of  causal 
associations.  Knowledge  of  these  is  arrived  at  first  by 
means  of  voluntary  movements,  and  afterward  extended 
in  various  directions,*  and  playful  experimentation  is  a 
valuable  incentive  to  such  movements.  The  young  bear 
that  plays  in  the  water,  the  dog  that  tears  a  paper  into 
scraps,  the  ape  that  delights  in  producing  new  and  un- 
couth sounds,  the  sparrow  that  exercises  its  voice,  the 
parrot  that  smashes  his  feeding  trough,  all  experience 
the  pleasure  in  energetic  activity,  which  is,  at  the  same 
time,  joy  in  being  able  to  accomplish  something. 

But  what  is  this  feeling  of  joy,  in  its  last  analysis? 
It  is  joy  in  success,  in  victory.  Nietzsche  has  opposed 
the  "  struggle  for  power "  to  Darwin's  "  struggle  for 
existence,"  and  however  contradictory  it  may  seem  to 
identify  the  survival  of  the  fittest,  which  is  usually  no 
struggle  at  all,  with  a  struggle  for  power,  it  is  certain 
that  striving  for  supremacy  is  instinctive  with  all  intelli- 
gent animals. 

The  first  object  to  be  mastered  is  the  creature's  own 
body,  and  this  is  accomplished  by  means  of  experimen- 
tal and  movement  plays.  This  achieved,  the  animal's 
spirit  of  conquest  is  directed  toward  inanimate  objects, 
and  very  easily  degenerates  into  destructiveness.    But  he 


*  See  Sully,  The  Human  Mind,  vol.  i,  pp.  264, 444 ;  vol.  ii,  p.  224. 


THE   PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ANIMAL  PLAY.         291 

aspires  still  higher,  and  attacks  other  animals  in  playful 
chase  and  mock  combats;  the  fleeing  animal  will  play- 
fully escape  from  his  pursuer.  In  the  other  forms  of 
play — building,  nursing,  and  curiosity — the  impulses  of 
ownership  and  subjugation  manifest  themselves  in  vari- 
ous ways.  Imitative  play  is  full  of  rivalry,  and  it  is  a 
powerful  motive  in  courtship.  It  is  a  satisfaction  that 
can  not  be  attained  without  effort,  and  is  increased  in 
proportion  to  the  difficulty  of  overcoming  opposition, 
without  which  there  would  be  no  consciousness  of 
strength.  This  is  just  as  true  in  simple  muscular  co- 
ordination as  in  the  solution  of  the  problems  of  a  game  of 
chess. 

In  short,  we  see  in  this  joy  in  conquest  a  "  cor- 
relative to  success  in  the  struggle  for  existence,^'  * 
whether  it  concerns  rivalry  among  comrades,  victory 
over  an  enemy,  the  proof  of  one's  capabilities,  or  the 
subduing  of  an  external  object. 

In  view  of  all  this,  it  seems  a  very  mistaken  pro- 
ceeding to  characterize  play  as  aimless  activity,  car- 
ried on  simply  for  its  own  sake.  Energetic  exertion 
may  be  provocative  of  pleasure,  as  we  have  seen,  but  it 
is  by  no  means  the  only  source  of  the  pleasure  pro- 
duced by  play.  "  Disinterested  play !  "  exclaims  Sou- 
riau  in  the  passage  already  cited  from — "  to  talk  about 
such  a  thing  is  to  expose  our  ignorance.  Players  are 
always  interested  in  the  result  of  their  efforts.''  It  may 
be  an  insignificant  aim  that  inspires  us,  but  there  is 
always  some  goal  that  we  are  striving  for,  an  "  end  to 
attain,"  whose  value  our  imagination  usually  enhances. 
"  Tell  me,  if  you  will,  that  I  am  voluntarily  deceiving 
myself ;  tell  me  even  that  I  am  making  myself  the  dupe 

*  Spencer,  Principles  of  Psychology,  vol.  i,  p.  534. 


292  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

of  a  conscious  illusion.  It  is  true,  all  the  same,  that 
activity  for  its  own  sake  is  not  enough  for  me,  and  I  am 
not  interested  in  a  game  unless  it  excites  my  amour 
pro  pre.  I  must  have  a  difficulty  to  overcome,  a  rival  to 
surpass,  or  at  least  be  able  to  make  progress/^  *  Grosse 
says  the  same  thing :  "  Play  stands  as  a  connecting  link 
between  practical  and  aesthetic  attainment.  It  is  distin- 
guished from  art  by  the  fact  that  it  strives  constantly  for 
the  attainment  of  some  external  aim,  and  from  work  in 
that  its  satisfaction  arises  not  from  the  value  of  its  re- 
sults, but  from  the  achievement  itself."  The  relation  of 
the  three  can  be  illustrated  by  calling  work  a  line,  play 
a  spiral,  and  art  a  circle."  f 

While  these  passages  are  conclusive  as  to  the  fact 
that  play  should  never  be  characterized  as  aimless  ac- 
tivity, Grosse's  utterance  might  very  easily  give  rise  to 
false  generalizations.  In  my  opinion,  adequate  psy- 
chological definitions  of  work,  play,  and  art  are  not 
to  be  produced  with  such  "  neatness  and  despatch  "  as 
Grosse  attempts. 

Play  is  easy  enough  to  define  objectively,  as  prac- 
tice in  distinction  from  the  exercise  of  important  in- 
stincts. But  in  regard  to  its  psychological  accompani- 
ments in  the  playing  subject  the  case  is  different.  Here 
we  must  suppose  a  progressive  development  from  mere 
satisfaction  of  instinctive  impulse  (where  the  act  is  per- 
formed neither  for  its  own  sake  nor  for  the  sake  of  an 
<3xternal  aim,  but  simply  in  obedience  to  hereditary  pro- 
pensity) through  what  is  subjectively  considered  akin  to 
work,  up  to  make-believe  activity  with  an  external  aim  as 
its  second  stage.    Finally,  as  the  outward  aim  gives  way 


*  Of.  K.  Lansre's  Bewusste  Selbsttauschimg. 

I  E.  Grosse,  Die  Anfange  der  Kunst,  1894,  p.  47. 


THE   PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ANIMAL  PLAY.         293 

before  the  pleasure-giving  quality  of  the  act  itself,  the 
transition  to  art  takes  place.  At  this  point  the  out- 
ward aim  has  but  a  very  slight  significance,  though  never 
vanishing  entirely ;  for  it  can  not  be  denied  that  in  artis- 
tic execution  it  regains  very  considerable  importance  in 
an  altered  form. 

Let  us  take  an  example  that  follows  all  these  devel- 
opmental stages.  If  a  very  young  puppy  is  tapped  on 
the  nose  with  the  finger,  he  snaps  at  it.  This  is  a  play- 
ful expression  of  the  fighting  instinct,  where  the  pro- 
pensity to  obey  hereditary  impulse  is  the  sole  cause 
for  the  act,  since  neither  feeling  nor  an  idealized  ex- 
ternal aim  can  be  alleged  as  such;  it  is  clearly  a  reac- 
tion to  stimulation  without  higher  psychic  accom- 
paniments. Going  a  step  further,  we  will  suppose  a 
young  dog  that  chases  his  brother  for  the  first  time  and 
seizes  him  by  the  throat.  Here  the  most  probable  sup- 
position is  that  subjectively  there  is  no  difference  be- 
tween practical  activity  and  this  kind  of  play.  The 
dog  has  the  serious  purpose  to  take  the  skin  in  his  teeth, 
to  throw  his  comrade  and  hold  him  fast  on  the  ground. 
It  is  altogether  improbable  that  he  is  making  believe 
at  first.  Here,  then,  play  appears  psychologically  as 
quite  serious  activity,  and  a  little  attention  to  the  sub- 
ject will  show  that  this  is  a  very  common  condition 
among  human  beings.*  In  the  third  stage  the  dogs 
are  grown  larger  and  can  bite  effectively  if  they  choose; 
nevertheless,  they  seldom  hurt  one  another  in  their 
tussles.  A  consciousness  of  make-believe  is  rising  gradu- 
ally, and  to  the  force  of  instinct  is  being  added  the 
recollection   of  the   pleasure-giving   qualities   of   play. 

*  For  instance,  a  little  girl  two  or  three  years  old  will  seriously 
trv  to  feed  her  doll  with  soup,  or  beat  it  severely.  And  how  many 
billiard  or  chess  players  take  defeat  seriously  I 


294  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

Only  in  this  way  can  we  exjDlain  the  animal's  restrain- 
ing his  fighting  propensities,  beyond  a  certain  limit, 
though  the  external  aim,  the  subjugation  of  his  oppo- 
nent, remains  and  tries  hard  to  break  through  these 
restraints.  Xow,  the  full-growTi  dog  romps  with  his 
master  and  the  make-believe  is  fully  developed  and 
conscious,  for  his  bite  is  intentionally  only  a  mumbling, 
his  growl  pure  hypocrisy.  The  animal,  playing  a  part 
as  an  actor,  comes  very  near  to  art;  henceforth  he 
plays  for  play's  sake  with  very  little  external  aim, 
though  his  disposition  to  use  his  strength  in  earnest 
as  the  play  grows  more  exciting,  witnesses  to  the  fact 
that  it  has  not  entirely  vanished.  x\t  this  point  of  the 
illustration  we  go  to  man  for  our  instance. 

Suppose  instead  of  the  dogs  two  boys  wrestling ;  here, 
too,  we  find  the  earnest  aim  to  overcome  an  opponent, 
and  at  the  same  time  consciousness  that  the  pleasur- 
able quality  of  the  game  can  only  be  preserved  by  con- 
fining the  struggle  to  certain  limits  and  keeping  up  the 
pretence.  Going  on  to  a  wrestling  match  before  spec- 
tators the  case  is  much  the  same,  for  the  likeness  to 
real  fighting  gained  in  one  way  is  lost  in  another,  since 
the  most  reckless  wrestlers  are  held  in  check  by  external 
restrictions,  called  "  rules  of  the  game."  Going  on  fur- 
ther, we  make  a  great  advance  if  we  allow  the  contestants 
to  arrange  it  all  in  advance :  "  You  take  a  good  grip  and 
throw  me,  but  I  make  a  sudden  move  and  get  the  upper 
hand,''  and  so  on.  This,  then,  becomes  pure  make-be- 
lieve, since  both  wrestlers  are  pla3ing  a  part;  but  we 
shall  find  that,  just  as  with  the  dogs  romping  with  their 
master,  the  real  aim  of  conquering  an  opponent  will 
get  the  better  of  these  restrictions  if  a  particularly  skil- 
ful move  calls  forth  loud  applause.  But  to  go  on  with 
the  illustration.       Supposing  the  game  carried  out  ac- 


THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  AKIMAL  PLAY.         295 

cording  to  agreement^  is  all  outward  aim  done  away 
with?  By  no  means.  It  reappears  in  a  modified 
form,  in  the  desire  to  impress  the  hearers  or  specta- 
tors, and  is  at  bottom  our  familiar  pleasure  in  power, 
delight  in  being  able  to  extend  the  sphere  of  our  abil- 
ity, a  motive  which  should  never  be  underestimated. 
Even  the  artist  does  not  create  for  the  mere  pleasure 
of  it;  he  too  feels  the  force  of  this  motive,  though  a 
higher  external  aim  to  him  is  the  hope  of  influencing 
other  minds  by  means  of  his  creations,  which,  through 
the  power  of  suggestion,  give  him  a  spiritual  supremacy 
over  his  fellow-creatures.  This  suggestive  effect  is  his 
real  aim,  for  while  it  is  true  in  a  sense  that  the  artist 
should  not  regard  applause  by  the  multitude,  but  listen 
rather  to  the  voice  in  his  own  breast,  it  is  yet  non- 
sense to  say  that  a  great  artist  has  no  thought  of  the 
effect  on  others.*  \Yh.at  is  nobler  or  more  kingly 
than  to  rule  by  natural  right?  Spiritual  supremacy 
is  the  aim  of  the  highest  art,  and  there  is  no  real  genius 
without  the  desire  for  it. 

So  we  find  in  this  pleasure  in  the  possession  of 
power  the  psychological  foundation  for  all  play  which 

*  Grosse  is  mnch  too  clear  a  thinker  not  to  recognise  this.  In 
his  "  scaffolding  "  of  definitions  he  has  this  sentence :  "Esthetic 
effort  is  not  a  means  to  an  end  outside  of  itself,  but  is  its  own  end  " 
(p.  46).  But  soon  after  he  says :  "  The  artist  works  not  for  himself 
alone,  but  for  others;  and  if  it  is  too  much  to  say  that  he  creates 
solely  with  a  view  to  influencing  others,  it  is  yet  true  that  the  form 
and  trend  of  his  effort  are  determined  essentially  by  his  conception 
of  the  public  whom  he  addresses.  A  work  of  art  always  reveals  as 
much  of  the  public  as  of  the  artist,  and  Mill  was  guilty  of  a  serious 
mistake  when  he  said  that  the  characteristic  quality  of  poetry  is 
that  'the  poet  never  thinks  of  a  hearer.'  On  the  contrary,  the 
poet  would  probably  never  give  expression  to  his  thoughts  if  there 
were  no  hearers  "  (p.  47). 
21 


296  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

has  higher  intellectual  accompaniments.  But  it  should 
be  remarked  that  the  pleasure  is  greater  when  the 
action  involves  movements  that  are  agreeable  to  the 
senses.  Souriau  finds  an  important  source  of  pleasure 
in  movements  that  overcome  resistance.  In  many  move- 
ment plays  the  earth's  attraction  is  the  opponent  we 
seek  to  conquer.  The  rapid  horizontal  movement,  the 
leap,  the  forward  motion  of  a  swing,  are  a  mock  victory 
over  the  force  of  gravitation.  This  is  a  most  pregnant 
idea,  and  doubtless  true  essentially,  though  there  is  a 
difficulty  in  the  fact  that  the  backward  motion  of  the 
swing,  the  leap  into  water,  and  the  lightning  speed  of 
coasting  and  skating,  all  of  which  depend  on  the  un- 
trammelled action  of  gravitation,  are  just  as  pleasurable. 
The  downward  flight  of  birds,  so  often  referred  to  in 
this  book,  belongs  to  the  same  category.  Still,  this 
does  not  disprove  Souriau's  idea,  for,  while  weight  is 
not  actually  overcome  in  these  exercises,  there  is  freedom 
from  all  the  unpleasant  effects  of  weight,  such  as  fric- 
tion, jarring,  etc.  All  gliding,  slipping,  rocking,  and 
floating  motions  give  us  a  peculiar  and  agreeable  feel- 
ing of  freedom,  whether  they  are  contrary  to  gravi- 
tation or  not.  We  are  freed  from  all  the  little  jars 
and  rubs  that  usually  accompany  our  motions,  and  are 
primarily  the  effect  of  weight;  hence  these  gliding  mo- 
tions are  particularly  agreeable  to  the  senses  and  tend 
greatly  to  increase  the  pleasurableness  of  play.  The 
same  is  true  of  agreeable  sounds  and  colours  when  they 
have  place  in  a  game. 

If  pleasure  in  the  possession  of  power  appears  as 
the  most  important  psychological  foundation  of  play, 
its  highest  intellectual  expression,  its  idealization,  as  it 
were,  proves  to  be  the  assuming  of  a  role  or  mock  ac- 
tivity in  any  form.     Objectively  all  play  is  of  this  char- 


THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OP  ANIMAL  PLAY.         297 

acter,  since  it  employs  an  instinct  when  its  actual  aim 
is  wanting,  but  subjectively  play  is  not  always  sham 
occupation.  It  is  safer,  as  we  have  seen,  to  assume  that 
the  primary  forms  have  none  of  this.  Only  when  the 
chase  and  fighting  plays  have  been  so  frequently  re- 
peated that  the  animal  recognises  their  pleasurable 
quality,  can  we  assume  that  even  an  intelligent  creature 
begins  consciously  to  play  a  part.  We  may  be  quite 
sure  of  it,  however,  when  he  uses  his  weapons  guardedly 
and  shows  signs  of  friendship  to  his  opponent,  or  when 
he  tosses  a  bit  of  wood  in  the  air  and  catches  it  again. 
As  regards  other  kinds  of  play  w^e  are  only  justified 
in  thinking  it  probable  that  such  a  consciousness  of 
shamming  is  present;  that  monkeys,  for  instance,  la- 
bour under  a  kind  of  mock  excitement  when  they  in- 
dulge their  destructive  impulses,  and  that  the  bird 
tumbling  about  in  the  air  has  some  object  when  he 
seems  on  the  point  of  falling  helpless  to  the  earth;  that 
the  parrot  that  knocks  on  his  cage  and  cries,  "  Come 
in! ''  is  consciously  making  believe;  that  the  wooing  bird 
really  plays  the  agreeable,  and  that  his  mate  coquettes 
intentionally,  etc. 

But  in  case  the  making  believe  can  not  always  be 
established,  it  is  useful  to  remember  that  actual  decep- 
tion is  not  rare  among  the  higher  animals.  Any  one 
who  has  had  much  to  do  with  dogs  will  not  doubt 
for  a  moment  that  this  is  true.  I  once  saw  one  drop 
a  piece  of  bread  that  he  would  not  eat,  on  the  ground 
and  lie  down  on  it,  then  with  an  air  of  great  innocence 
pretend  to  be  looking  for  it.  The  Mlillers  tell  of  a 
pointer  that  shammed  sleep  after  he  had  licked  all  the 
clabber  out  of  a  bowl.*     Levaillant  suspected  his  mon- 

*  Thiere  der  Heimath,  vol.  i.  p.  122.     A\\x.  LVsprit  de  nos  betes, 
tells  of  a  hunting  dog  that  deceived  his  master  by  pointing  at 


298  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

key,  "  Kees/'  of  stealing  eggs.  "  So  I  hid  myself  one 
day  to  watch,  Avhen  the  cackling  of  the  hens  proved  that 
they  had  laid.  Kees  was  sitting  on  a  cart,  but  as 
soon  as  he  heard  the  first  cackle  he  jumped  down  to 
get  the  egg.  When  he  saw  me  he  stood  still  at  once 
and  affected  an  attitude  of  great  indifference,  swayed 
on  his  hind  legs  for  a  while,  and  tried  to  look  very 
artless.  In  short,  he  used  every  means  to  put  me  off 
the  track  and  conceal  his  intentions.'^  *  Tame  ele- 
phants evince  remarkable  talents  in  this  direction, 
Avhich  are  utilized  in  capturing  others.  Sir  E.  Ten- 
nent  describes  a  female  elephant  who  excelled  in  this 
game.  "  She  was  a  most  accomplished  decoy,  and 
evinced  the  utmost  relish  for  the  sport.  Having  en- 
tered the  corral  noiselessly,  carrying  a  mahout  on  her 
shoulders  with  the  headman  of  the  noosers  seated  be- 
hind him,  she  moved  slowly  along  Avith  a  sly  com- 
posure and  an  assumed  air  of  easy  indifference;  saunter- 
ing leisurely  in  the  direction  of  the  captives,  and  halt- 
ing now  and  then  to  pluck  a  bunch  of  grass  or  a  few 
leaves  as  she  passed,''  etc.f  When  a  pair  of  wolves 
fall  upon  a  flock  the  female  often  draws  the  attention 
of  the  dogs  to  herself  and  lets  them  chase  her  while  the 
male  seizes  the  prey.]:  Iv.  Russ  says  after  describing 
the  diseases  of  parrots:  "  Some  of  the  cleverest  and 
best-talking  birds  will  sham  sickness  in  a  manner 
that  seems   incredible.     Careful   scientific   observation, 


iinajrinary  game  if  he  wished  to  take  a  direction  different  from  the 
one  followed  by  the  guide. 

*  H.  0.  Lenz,  Gemeinniitzige  Naturgeschichte,  vol.  i.  p.  50. 

f  E.  Tennent,  Natural  History  of  Ceylon,  pp.  181-194.  See 
Romanes,  Animal  Tntplligence.  p.  402. 

t  Leroy.  Lettres  philopophique  sur  Tintelligence  et  la  perfecti- 
bilito  des  animaux,  p.  24. 


THE  PSYCHOLOGY   OF  ANIMAL  PLAY.         299 

however,  has  convinced  me  of  the  fact.  The  bird 
shows  every  symptom  of  disease  and  lies  on  the  side  or 
stomach,  breathing  heavily,  xill  this  while  his  master 
or  some  one  else  is  in  the  room,  but  as  soon  as  he  finds 
himself  alone  or  has  reason  to  think  so  he  appears 
quite  normal  and  no  longer  ill.  I  believe  that  the  ex- 
planation of  this  is  that  the  spoiled  pet  has  noticed  that 
illness  excites  sympathy,  and  tender,  pitying  tones  are 
pleasant  to  him.  Perhaps  a  slight  indisposition  or  a 
little  pain  caused  the  first  complaint,  and  he  has  kept 
it  up  for  the  sake  of  being  petted.  To  cure  this  unfor- 
tunate habit  of  deception  it  is  only  necessary  to  be  a 
little  hard-hearted  and  not  take  any  notice  of  the  pre- 
tended suffering,  keeping  him  as  cheerful  and  busy  as 
possible."* 

\Yhen  we  see  deception  used  so  effectively  to  serve 
practical  ends,  examples  of  which  are  very  common, 
as  every  student  of  psychology  can  testify,  it  can  hardly 
be  doubted  that  there  is  in  all  probability  more  con- 
sciousness of  shamming  in  j^lay  than  we  have  any  means 
of  demonstrating. 

But  such  a  consciousness  bears  the  closest  relation 
to  artistic  invention,  as  the  following  passage  from  Kon- 
rad  Lange  will  show:  "If,  then,  aesthetic  performance 
of  children,  as  well  as  of  primitive  peoples,  can  be 
proved  to  have  its  origin  in  the  play  impulse,  the  next 
question  is  whether  the  same  thing  is  true  among  ani- 
mals, and  many  observations  point  to  an  affirmative  an- 
swer. I  will  not  dilate  on  this  point,  only  mentioning  in 
passing  that  many  zoologists  believe  that  certain  plays 
of  animals  have  the  character  of  illusions.  Dogs  play- 
ing with  a  bone,  treat  it  like  prey;  cats  will  do  the 

♦  K.  Russ,  Die  sprechondpn  P.ipageien,  p.  896. 


300  THE   PLAY   OF   ANIMALS. 

same  with  a  pebble  or  ball  of  yarn.  Dogs  that  are  vio- 
lently excited  at  the  opening  of  an  umbrella  or  the 
sight  of  an  empty  mouse-trap  must  experience  emo- 
tions similar  to  those  of  the  child  at  play  with  his  doll 
or  a  man  at  a  theatre  or  admiring  a  work  of  plastic  art. 
It  is  impossible  to  be  certain  how  far  the  stimulus  to 
such  play  is  purely  sensuous  and  how  much  conscious- 
ness of  illusion  is  present.  But  it  seems  to  be  the  gen- 
eral opinion  of  scholars  that  there  is  less  of  uncon- 
scious reflex  movement  in  it  than  in  a  recognised  illu- 
sion play.  To  establish  this  would  be  to  gain  a  very 
important  argument  for  the  significance  of  conscious 
illusion  in  the  enjoyment  of  art;  for  it  is  clear  that 
a  developmental  force  that  was  operative  before  the  evo- 
lution of  man  has  a  greater  claim  to  be  considered  the 
central  cause  of  the  gratification  that  art  gives  than  any 
number  of  forces  that  are  not  common  to  the  lower 
animals,  however  large  their  part  in  such  gratification 
may  be."  * 

But  before  going  on  we  must  inquire  more  particu- 
larly what  plays  this  conscious  self-deception  appears 
in.  Lange,  in  his  fine  work  Die  kiinstlerische  Erzie- 
hung,  here  distinguishes  four  classes  of  pla3^s  among  chil- 
dren— movement  plays,  sense  plays,  artistic  plays,  and 
rational  plays.  Artistic  play  is  the  only  one  in  which 
conscious  self-deception  appears,  and  there  it  forms  an 
analogue  to  artistic  creation  and  aesthetic  enjoyment. 

The  artistic  plays  of  children  are  principally  dra- 
matic, the  child  personating  its  parents  or  others;  even 
lifeless  objects  may  take  part:  the  table  will  do  for  a 
house,  while  the  footstool  is  a  dog,  and  so  on.  Other 
forms,  such  as  the  epic  play,  where  stories  or  pictures 

*  K.  Lange,  an  artifle  in  Die  Aula,  1895,  p.  89. 


THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ANIMAL  PLAY.         30I 

are  acted  out,  are  outside  the  sphere  of  the  animal  psy- 
chologist, but  he  is  interested  in  those  directly  connected 
with  the  imitative  arts.  Since  Lange,  both  here  and 
in  a  later  article,  has  found  conscious  self-deception  also 
in  the  other  arts,*  I  think  it  is  admissible  to  include  it 
among  the  other  plays,  always  with  the  proviso  that  con- 
sciousness of  the  sham  character  of  the  act  is  not  neces- 
sarily present,  but  may  be.  The  feature  common  to  all 
animal  play  is  that  instinct  is  manifested  without  seri- 
ous occasion.  Now,  when  the  animal  knows  that  there 
is  no  serious  occasion,  and  yet  goes  on  playing,  we 
have  conscious  self-deception.  It  seems  to  me  that  this 
is  the  case  with  most  of  the  play  of  animals,  though 
not  with  equal  certainty;  perhaps  least  of  all  in  imita- 
tive play.  If  we  take  the  dog's  play  with  a  stick,  for 
instance,  as  an  example  of  conscious  mock  activity,  we 
see  that  there  is  no  imitation  in  it,  because  it  is  done 
without  a  model,  f 

Glancing  over  the  various  kinds  of  play,  can  we 
say  that  the  animal  pretends  to  follow  a  serious  aim 
when  he  merely  experiments,  as  when  he  runs  about 
in  a  movement  play,  or  springs  after  a  block  of  wood  as 
if  it  were  prey,  or  scuffles  with  his  comrade,  or  amuses 
himself  with  building,  or  treats  a  young  animal  of  some 
other  kind  like  a  doll,  or  playfully  imitates  another,  or 
displays  curiosity,  or  practises  his  courtship  arts?  Xow, 
it  is  evident  that  the  probability  of  conscious  make- 
believe  is  a  variable  quantity  in  these  cases.  It  seems 
to  be  quite  certain  in  the  frequently  repeated  hunting 
and  fighting  games,  less  so  in  experimentation,  move- 

*  Tbid.,  p.  21. 

f  [Tt  is  in  connection  with  this  question  that  I  have  made  the 
sn^e:estion  {Science,  February  26, 1897)  stated  above  in  niv  preface, 
p.  X. — J.  Mark  Baldwin.] 


302  THE   PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

ment  plays  and  courtship,  and  least  so  in  building, 
curiosity,  and  imitative  play.  What  makes  this  differ- 
ence? Probably  the  fact  that  in  many  plays  there 
is  not  only  sham  activity,  but  also  a  sham  object  as 
well,  which,  we  assume,  the  intelligent  animal  recog- 
nises as  such,  while  in  other  cases  this  is  wanting.  If 
we  could  be  certain  that  apes  treat  lifeless  objects  as 
dolls,  this  act  would  be  in  the  foremost  rank  of  illusion 
plays;  if  other  animals  would  choose  a  fixed  object  as 
the  goal  of  their  races,  this  too  would  be  most  impor- 
tant. But  we  can  not  be  sure  of  these  things,  for 
speech  is  wanting  to  these  creatures.  The  child  that 
puts  on  his  father's  hat  and  says,  "  Now  I  am  papa," 
proves  that  his  is  not  mere  instinctive  imitation,  and 
that  he  is  conscious  of  the  make-believe,  while  the  mon- 
key that  imitates  his  master  has  no  way  of  assuring 
us  of  the  character  of  his  actions.  Still  less  can  we 
ascertain  whether  the  play  of  masses  of  animals,  which 
we  regard  as  imitative,  is  characterized  by  that  absorp- 
tion of  the  individual  by  the  mass  that  is  so  essential  to 
such  play  among  men. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  there  is  the  strongest  probability 
that  the  playing  animal  has  this  conscious  self-decep- 
tion. The  origin  of  artistic  fantasy  or  playful  illusion 
is  thus  anchored  in  the  firm  ground  of  organic  evolu- 
tion. Play  is  needed  for  the  higher  development  of 
intelligence;  at  first  merely  objective,  it  becomes,  by 
means  of  this  development,  subjective  as  well,  for  the 
fact  that  the  animal,  though  recognising  that  his  action 
is  only  a  pretence,  repeats  it,  raises  it  to  the  sphere  of 
conscious  self-illusion,  pleasure  in  making  believe — 
that  is,  to  the  threshold  of  artistic  production.  Only  to 
the  threshold,  however,  for  to  such  production  belongs 
the  aim  of  affecting  others  by  the  pretence,  and  pure 


THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ANIMAL  PLAY.         303 

play  has  none  of  this  aim.     Only  love  play  shows  some- 
thing of  it,  and  in  this  respect  it  is  nearest  to  art. 

Coming  now  to  inquire  into  the  psychology  of  the 
subject  yet  more  closely,  we  Avill  consider  two  important 
points:  1.  Divided  consciousness  in  make-believe.  2. 
The  feeling  of  freedom  in  make-believe.  They  are 
closely  connected. 

1.  Divided  Consciousness  in  Malce-helieve. 

A  close  examination  of  this  conscious  self-illusion, 
which  is  the  highest  psychic  phenomenon  of  play,  shows 
that  it  is  a  very  peculiar  condition  of  mind.  I  have  de- 
scribed it  briefly  in  my  work  on  aesthetics:  "  I  know 
quite  well  that  the  waterfall  whose  motion  I  am  watch- 
ing does  not  feel  any  of  the  fury  that  it  seems  to  show, 
and  yet  I  remain  a  captive  to  the  thought  that  this  is 
so.  I  see  through  the  illusion,  and  still  give  myself 
up  to  it."  *  Something  of  the  same  idea,  too,  is  con- 
tained in  Schiller's  words:  "  It  is  self-evident  that  we 
are  here  speaking  only  of  aesthetic  appearance  (Schein) 
which  we  distinguish  from  reality — and  yet  not  logically 
so,  as  when  one  thing  is  mistaken  for  another.  We  like 
it  because  it  is  show,  and  not  because  we  mistake  it  for 
anything  else.  In  other  words,  we  play  with  it,  and  this 
contrasts  it  with  real  deception."  f 

It  appears,  then,  that  play,  when  it  rises  to  con- 
scious self-deception,  produces  a  strange  and  peculiar 

*  Einleitung  in  die  Aesthetik.  p.  191. 

f  Ueber  die  aesthetische  Erziehung  des  Menpchen,  twenty-sixth 
letter.  See  also  Kant's  weighty  utterance :  "  Xatnre  is  beautiful 
when  it  appears  as  art;  and  art  can  only  be  called  beautiful  when 
we  recognise  it  as  art  while  it  yet  appears  to  us  as  Nature."  (Cri- 
tique of  Judgment,  §  45).  K.  Lange  has  recently  revived  this  con- 
ception of  Kant's. 


304  TEE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

division  of  our  consciousness.  The  child  is  wholly  ab- 
sorbed in  his  play,  and  yet  under  all  the  ebb  and  flow 
of  thought  and  feeling,  like  still  water  under  wind- 
sw^ept  waves,  he  has  the  knowledge  that  it  is  only  a  pre- 
tence, after  all.  Behind  the  sham  I,  that  takes  part  in 
the  game,  stands  the  unchanging  I  of  real  life,  which 
regards  the  sham  I  with  quiet  superiority.* 

If  now  we  ask  how  this  phenomenon  is  related  to 
the  other  condition  of  mind  known  to  us,  we  find  that 
it  occupies  a  position  between  the  ordinary  waking 
state  of  consciousness  and  the  abnormal  conditions  of 
hypnosis  and  hysteria,  which  is  rather  daringly  called 
double  personality,  t 

Many  things,  it  is  true,  in  our  waking  life  suggest 
a  divided  consciousness,  but  the  cleft  is  not  so  deep 
as  in  the  abnormal  condition.  I  am  not  now  speaking 
of  the  alternation  of  two  psychic  existences — that  phe- 
nomenon is  perhaps  best  illustrated  in  the  everyday  life 
of  many  heads  of  families  who  are  unsupportable  ty- 
rants at  home,  while  at  the  club  they  are  the  very 
types  of  a  "  jolly  old  boy  '' — but  I  refer  rather  to  simul- 
taneously existing  divisions  of  consciousness,  examples  of 
which  are  not  uncommon  with  us.  We  may  state  the 
case  somewhat  in  this  way:  It  is  a  formulated  scientific 
fact  that  a  certain  economy  governs  our  consciousness. 
It  takes  note  of  but  a  limited  number  of  the  countless 
physiological  stimuli  that   continually   set   our  brains 

*  See  E.  yon  Hartmann,  Aesthetik,  vol,  ii,  p.  59. 

f  Pierre  Janet,  L'autoraatisme  psychologique,  1894,  p.  132. 
Max  Dessoir,  Das  Doppel-Tch.  1890.  Kant  referred  to  this  idea 
as  far  back  as  1838  in  his  Traumen  eines  Geistersehers.  Land- 
mann's  criticism  on  The  Plurality  of  Psychic  Personalities  in  One 
Individual  contains  much  of  importance,  but  his  work  labours  un- 
der too  sharp  a  distinction  of  "  cortical "  from  "  subcortical "  as 
used  by  Meynert. 


THE   PSYCHOLOGY  OF  AXIMAL  PLAY.         305 

into  activity.  We  know,  further,  that  human  con- 
sciousness does  not  reveal  all  its  store  at  once,  for  the 
mental  field  of  vision  is  like  the  optical,  in  that  a  part 
of  our  store  of  knowledge  is  pre-eminent,  while  all  the 
rest  is  grouped  about  the  mental  view-point  (Wundt). 
I  have  called  this  the  "  monarchical  character  of  con- 
sciousness/' *  But  it  seems  in  general,  if  not  always, 
that  the  psychic  fringe  outside  of  the  mental  view- 
point has  a  certain  independence.  If  we  figure  the 
former  as  a  peak,  the  latter  will  form  neighbouring 
hills.  But  how  do  they  arise?  In  normal  cases  they 
are  formed  from  the  debris  of  former  intellectual  opera- 
tions, which  may  have  been  insignificant  as  psychic 
phenomena,  but  are  important  by  reason  of  their  close 
connection  with  habits  that  have  become  reflex  from 
constant  repetition.  Thus,  when  our  consciousness  be- 
comes full  of  ideas  that  are  only  loosely  connected  with 
our  habitual  I,f  it  too  becomes  a  neighbouring  peak,;|; 
and  so  a  simple  and  normal  division  of  consciousness  is 
effected.  Condillac  recognised  this  fact  and  expressed 
it  with  the  greatest  clearness.  He  says:  "  "WTien  a  ge- 
ometer is  intensely  occupied  with  the  solution  of  a  prob- 
lem, external  objects  continue  to  act  on  his  senses  and 
the  habitual  I  responds  to  their  impressions.  It  walks 
him  about  Paris,  avoiding  obstacles  while  the  reflective 
I  is  entirely  absorbed  in  the  solution.^'  * 

*  Einleitung  in  die  Aesthetik,  p.  3. 

+  I  use  the  terms  "  habitual  I,"  "  real  I,"  and  "  apparent  I " 
without  the  intention  of  implying  actual  plurality  of  personality. 

X  Herein  appears  also  the  biological  utility  of  the  normal  di- 
vision of  consciousness,  namely,  in  that  higher  intellectual  devel- 
opment would  be  impossible  without  relative  independence  of  the 
habitual  I, 

*  E.  Alix,  L'esprit  de  nos  betes,  p.  587. 


506  THE   PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

In  order  to  make  the  relation  between  these  two 
Ts,  in  normal  cases,  clearer,  I  cite  two  commonplace  ex- 
amples from  Dessoir:  "  A  friend  calls  and  tells  me 
something  that  necessitates  my  going  out  with  him. 
While  he  relates  the  most  interesting  occurrences  I  am 
getting  ready  to  go.  I  put  on  a  fresh  collar,  turn  my 
cuffs,  fasten  the  buttons,  pull  on  my  coat,  get  the  door 
key,  and  even  glance  in  the  mirror.  All  this  time  my 
attention  is  occupied  with  my  friend's  narrative,  as  re- 
peated questions  prove.  Once  in  the  street,  it  suddenly 
occurs  to  me  that  I  have  forgotten  the  key.  I  hurry 
back,  look  in  every  nook  and  corner,  and  at  last  feel  in 
my  pocket,  where,  of  course,  I  find  it.  As  I  join  my 
friend,  he  says:  ^  If  you  had  told  me  what  you  wanted, 
I  could  have  told  you  that  I  saw  you  take  the  key  out 
of  a  drawer  and  put  it  in  your  pocket.  How  can  any 
one  be  so  absent-minded?'^^  Still  more  remarkable 
are  the  apparently  rational  automatic  movements  that 
we  perform  mechanically,  though  they  tend  to  accom- 
plish results  that  we  later  acknowledge  as  our  uncon- 
scious purpose.  An  official,  for  example,  sets  out  in 
the  morning  and  walks  a  long  distance  without  once 
having  the  idea  of  his  destination  enter  his  mind.  But 
as  soon  as  an  acquaintance  meets  him  and  inquires  why 
he  is  out  so  early,  he  replies  without  reflection  that  he 
must  be  at  the  office.^'* 

Let  us  now  take  a  simple  example  from  the  sphere 
of  hypnotic  research.  "  In  the  sitting  of  April  30, 
1888,"  says  Dessoir,  "  the  first  experiment  was  made 

with  our  principal  subject,  Herr  D .     He  received 

the  post-hypnotic  suggestion  that  he  should  resume  the 
condition  as  soon  as  I  had  clapped  my  hands  seven- 

*  M.  Dessoir,  Das  Doppel-Tch,  p.  ?>. 


THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ANIMAL  PLAY.         307 

teen  times.  When  he  awoke.  Dr.  Moll  engaged  him  in 
lively  conversation,  while  I  clapped  my  hands  softly, 
and  at  irregular  intervals,  fifteen  times.  Being  asked 
then  whether  he  had  heard  my  hands  striking  together, 

D denied  it,  and,  besides,  asserted  that  he  did  not 

know  what  he  was  to  do  after  the  seventeenth  clap; 
but  as  soon  as  it  sounded  he  automatically  obeyed  the 

order.^^     To  this  is  added:  "  As  D had  declared 

that  he  did  not  know  of  the  clapping,  we  put  a  pencil 
in  his  hand  with  the  remark  that  the  hand  would  write 
how  many  times  I  had  clapped.  D laughed  in- 
credulously, Avent  on  with  his  conversation,  and  did 
not  notice  that  the  pencil  wrote  ^  15  ^  with  slow  strokes 
— indeed,  he  would  not  admit  afterward  that  he  had 
done  it."  * 

I  follow  up  this  simple  instance  with  a  very  re- 
markable one.  Pierre  Janet  made  the  following  ex- 
periment with  his  subject  Lucie:  During  the  hypnosis 
he  laid  five  sheets  of  white  paper  on  her  knee,  two  of 
them  being  marked  with  a  cross.  These  two  he  told 
her  she  could  not  see  when  she  awoke.  On  awaking, 
she  was  surprised  to  see  the  papers  on  her  lap,  and 
Janet  told  her  to  give  the  sheets  to  him.  She  took  up 
those  not  marked,  and  declared  when  asked  that  there 
were  no  more.  The  marks  must  have  been  noted  by 
her  "  subliminal  consciousness  "  while  not  suspected  by 
the  ordinary  one.  Janet  proceeds:  "  This  supposition 
was  strengthened  by  complicating  the  experiment  as 
follows:  I  put  the  subject  to  sleep  once  more,  and 
placed  twenty  small  slips,  all  numbered,  on  her  knee. 
Then  I  said  to  her,  '  You  can  not  see  the  papers  marked 
with  multiples  of  three.^     AMien  awakened,  she  showed 

*  M.  Dessoir,  Das  Doppel-Ich,  pp.  18,  22. 


308  THE   PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

the  same  forgetfulness  and  the  same  surprise  at  finding 
the  papers.  I  asked  her  to  give  them  to  me  one  by 
one;  she  handed  me  fourteen,  leaving  six  untouched; 
these  six  bore  the  multiples  of  three.  I  am  convinced 
that  she  did  not  see  them."  *  In  the  first  of  these  ex- 
amples, those  taken  from  everyday  life,  the  division  of 
consciousness  is  unimportant.  When  I  converse  on  an 
interesting  theme  and  at  the  same  time  dress  myself, 
brush  my  hair,  wash  myself,  take  a  key  from  the 
basket,  etc.,  without  being  able  to  remember  it  after- 
ward, it  is  not  at  all  improbable  that  my  consciousness 
wandered  many  times  during  the  talk  to  the  habitual 
acts.  In  the  hypnotic  cases  we  can  not  suppose  any 
such  glancing  off  of  waking  consciousness;  there  is  a 
deep  gorge  between  the  principal  and  the  neighbour- 
ing peaks.  There  are  in  the  same  brain  two  related 
but  independent  dynamic  complexes. 

How  is  it,  then,  with  conscious  self -illusion?  Here 
self-forgetfulness,  the  losing  sight  of  the  habitual  I,  is, 
as  a  rule,  more  pronounced  than  in  the  earlier  in- 
stance. The  child  goes  about  his  play  very  differently 
from  a  man  engaging  in  conversation,  and  many  ob- 
servers testify  that  playing  animals  often  become  blind 
and  deaf  to  approaching  danger,  so  great  is  their  ab- 
sorption. But,  on  the  other  hand,  conscious  connec- 
tion with  real  life  is  not  so  completely  broken  as  in 
the  negative  or  positive  hallucinations  of  hypnotism, 
for  the  sham  occupation  does  not  at  any  time  become 
so  absorbing  that  it  can  not  be  changed  at  will  to  the 
reality.  Thus  it  is  that  division  of  consciousness  as  it 
appears  in  play  forms  the  medium  between  the  two 
groups  of  phenomena  which  we  have  considered.     Play- 

*  Pierre  Janet,  LVaitomatisme  psjchologiquc,  p.  277. 


THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ANIMAL  PLAY.         309 

ful  activity  is  perhaps  more  like  that  resulting  from 
certain  dreams.  Only  a  part  of  the  content  of  many 
dreams  has  any  relation  to  the  personal  consciousness 
of  the  dreamer,  while  the  rest  appears  as  something 
apart,  not  belonging  to  him.*  For  example,  Yon 
Steinen  dreamed  while  he  was  living  among  the  naked 
tribes  of  central  Brazil  that  he  appeared  in  European 
society  where  all  the  guests  were  without  clothes.  He 
was  rather  surprised,  but  was  easily  satisfied  when 
somebody  told  him,  "  Everybody  does  it."  f  Here  is  a 
dialogue  between  the  dream  I  and  the  waking  con- 
sciousness which  criticises  the  dream  phenomena;  the 
two  spheres  are  so  widely  separated  that  they  appear 
as  I  and  you.  But  dreams  that  do  not  allow  this  are 
still  more  like  conscious  self-deception.  We  often 
dream,  for  example,  that  we  must  prepare  for  some  ex- 
amination that  we  have  already  passed,  but  the  waking 
consciousness  quickly  interferes  with  the  information 
that  we  stood  it  long  ago.  J  If  we  could  show  that  the 
dream  pictures  were  not  enforced  upon  our  waking  con- 
sciousness, and  that  it  saw  through  their  shamming  and 


*  See  H.  Siebeck.  Das  Tranmlehon  der  Seele.  p.  38. 

t  K.  von  der  Steinen,  Unter  den  Naturvolker  Centralbrasiliens, 
p.  64. 

X  Binet  and  Fere  show  that  in  hypnosis,  too,  the  waking  con- 
sciousness often  rises  to  the  surface.  "  Every  one  coukl  probably 
make  some  experiments  with  this  dual  consciousness  by  studvin^ 
his  own  dreams.  Here  we  see  again  the  relationship  between  nor- 
mal sleep  and  the  hypnotic  sleep.  In  general  the  dreamer  is  like 
a  somnambulist  under  a  suggested  hallucination  :  he  apprehends 
nothing  with  certainty;  he  allows  the  most  palpable  absurdities  to 
be  perpetrated  before  his  very  eyes.  But  sometimes  a  remnant  of 
his  common  sense  awakes,  and  he  cries  in  the  midst  of  the  bur- 
lesque :  '  But  this  is  an  impossibility ;  it  must  be  a  dream.'  "  (Binet 
and  Fere,  Le  magnetisme  animal,  p.  107.) 


310  THE   PLAY   OF  AXDIALS. 

enjoyed  the  deception,  we  should  be  very  near  the  psy- 
chological conditions  of  conscious  play. 

If,  then,  in  conscious  make-believe,  in  the  young 
dog,  for  example,  that  begs  his  mistress  to  reach  out 
her  foot  and  then  falls  upon  it  with  every  sign  of  rage, 
but  never  really  biting  it,  the  connection  between  the 
pretended  I  and  the  real  I  underlying  it  is  preserved  in 
spite  of  the  division  of  consciousness,  the  important  ques- 
tion to  us  is  concerning  the  nature  of  this  connection. 
We  might  suppose  it  to  be  a  kind  of  oscillation  from  one 
sphere  to  the  other.  Using  a  commonplace  but  excel- 
lent illustration,  it  would  be  like  the  circus  rider  who 
stands  with  legs  wide  apart  on  two  galloping  horses  and 
throws  his  balance  from  one  to  the  other.  Lange  has  ex- 
pressed the  same  idea  in  regard,  primarily,  to  artistic  en- 
joyment, but  so  as  to  include  play-illusion  also;  in  his 
book  on  Kiinstlerische  Erziehung  he  speaks  of  the  "  oscil- 
lation between  appearance  and  reality,'^  and  regards  it  as 
the  very  essence  of  agsthetic  enjoyment.  In  a  passage  on 
conscious  self-deception  he  goes  still  further:  "  Artistic 
erijoyment  thus  appears  as  a  variable  floating  condition, 
a  free  and  conscious  movement  between  appearance 
and  reality,  between  the  serious  and  the  playful,  and 
since  these  feelings  can  never  coincide,  but  must  al- 
Avays  be  at  variance,  we  may  adopt  the  figure  of  a  pen- 
dulum. The  subject  knows  quite  well,  on  the  one 
hand,  that  the  ideas  and  feeling  occupying  him  are 
only  make-believe,  3'et,  on  the  other  hand,  he  continues  to 
act  as  if  they  were  serious  and  real.  It  is  this  con- 
tinued play  of  emotion,  this  alternation  of  appearance 
and  reality,  or  reason  and  emotion,  if  you  like,  that 
constitutes  the  essence  of  aesthetic  enjoyment.^'  * 

*  Die  bewusste  Selbsttauschung,  p.  22. 


THE   PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ANIMAL   PLAY.         311 

I  am  fully  convinced  of  the  truth  of  the  central 
proposition  of  this  luminous  passage,  the  more  since 
I  have  come  to  a  similar  conclusion  in  investigating  the 
relation  of  the  sublime  to  the  comic*  But  a  close 
examination  proves  it  to  be  doubtful  whether  this  oscil- 
lation between  a  condition  of  self-deception  and  the 
consciousness  of  it  should  be  regarded  as  always  a  qual- 
ity of  play.  Lange  seems  to  me  to  go  too  far  in  mak- 
ing it  essential  to  esthetic  and  play  enjoyment  of  all 
kinds.  Self-observation  reveals  a  high  degree  of  satisfac- 
tion in  long-continued  play,  during  which  the  real  I,  as 
Hartmann  justly  says,  remains  quietly  in  the  back- 
ground and  does  not  assert  itself.  I  do  not  believe  that 
boys  romping  together  often  realize  the  unreality  of 
their  contests  while  the  game  is  going  on ;  and  if  we  are 
witnessing  the  prison  scene  in  Faust  our  intense  enjoy- 
ment may  last  through  it  all,  and  our  real  ego  be  en- 
tirely lost  sight  of.  Only  when  the  curtain  falls  do  we 
return  with  a  long  breath  to  reality  and  "come  to.'' 
Our  return  to  waking  consciousness  is  accomplished 
more  by  a  sudden  leap  than  by  oscillation,  and  the 
higher  our  enjoyment  the  more  rarely  do  we  make 
the  leap. 

It  will  be  seen  that  Lange's  proposition  is  supported 
less  by  observation  than  by  logic;  he  tries  to  prove  his 
theory  of  oscillation  by  the  unthinkableness  of  the  re- 
verse. "  Since  the  feeling  for  reality,  on  the  one  hand, 
and  for  the  apparent  can  never  coincide,"  he  thinks  this 
motion  must  be  regular,  but  in  view  of  what  we  know 
of  divided  consciousness  this  seems  to  me  improbable. 
The  examples  cited  above  show  that  two  entirely  differ- 


*  (iron<^,  Einleitung  in  die  Aesthetik,  pp.  337  f,  404.    So  also 
Kant,  Critique  of  Judgment. 


312  THE   PLAY   OF  ANIMALS. 

ent  psychic  processes  may  run  parallel,  that  there  may  be 
a  separate  subliminal  consciousness  acting  with  entire 
independence.  When,  for  instance,  the  seventeen  hand- 
claps were  registered  obediently  to  post-hypnotic  sug- 
gestion, the  waking  consciousness  took  no  note  of  the 
count.  However,  there  often  seems  to  be  a  kind  of 
unconscious  connection,  like  a  subterranean  wire  lead- 
ing from  the  subliminal  to  the  waking  consciousness, 
that  can  not  be  accounted  for  by  the  ordinary  change 
from  one  state  to  the  other.  Even  in  the  deepest  ab- 
sorption, when  for  a  long  time  there  is  no  recollec- 
tion of  the  real  ego,  we  do  not  substitute  appearances 
for  reality.  A  simple  hypnotic  experiment  of  MolFs 
will  illustrate  the  fact  of  such  a  connection:  "I  told 

X in  the  hypnotic  state  that  when  he  awoke  he 

should  lay  an  umbrella  on  the  floor.  When  he  did 
awake  I  told  him  to  do  what  he  chose,  and  at  the  same 
time  I  gave  him  a  folded  paper,  on  which  I  had  written 
what  he  would  do.  He  carried  out  the  suggestion, 
and  was  amazed  when  he  read  the  paper.  He  declared 
that  he  thought  he  was  doing  something  this  time  that 
had  not  been  suggested.^^  *  In  a  case  like  this  the  idea 
of  the  act  must  come  over  from  the  subliminal  con- 
sciousness without  the  subject^s  suspecting  whence  it 
comes.  Emotions,  too,  may  be  conveyed  in  the  same 
way.  The  subject  laughs  on  awaking,  as  has  been 
suggested  during  hypnosis,  without  knowing  that  he 
is  obeying  a  command,  and  finds  some  other  reason 
for  it.t 

*  A.  Moll,  Der  Hypnotismus,  p.  128. 

f  That  this  is  not  always  so  is  proved  by  those  occasions  when 
the  subject  bursts  out  laughinfj.  but  afterward  knows  nothing 
about  it ;  the  feeling  is  not  transferred  to  the  major  consciousness. 
Ibid.,  p.  120. 


THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ANIMAL    PLAY.        313 

Still  more  remarkable  are  Binet's  observations  of 
hysteria  with  partial  angesthesia.*  For  example,  the 
right  hand  is  wholly  without  sensation,  but  only  so  for 
the  waking  consciousness,  for  it  grasps  a  pencil  without 
the  patient^s  seeing  or  knowing  it,  finishes  a  sentence, 
and  even  corrects  an  error  intentionally  made  by  the 
experimenter.  There  must,  then,  be  a  consciousness 
for  which  the  hand  is  not  anaesthetic. 

Many  of  Binet's  experiments  indicate  that  here,  too, 
an  unconscious  connection  exists  between  the  two  states 
of  consciousness;  hysterical  patients  may  nave  visual 
images  corresponding  to  impressions  made  on  the  sub- 
liminal consciousness.  "  If,  for  example,  some  familiar 
object,  like  a  knife,  is  brought  into  contact  with  a 
hand  without  sensation,  the  person  knows  nothing 
about  the  form  of  the  knife,  about  pain  inflicted,  etc., 
but  all  these  latent  sensations  produce  their  optical  coun- 
terpart in  the  sphere  of  the  first  consciousness — namely, 
the  visual  image  of  a  knife." 'f 

We  can  attain  our  object  sooner  by  turning  now  to 
E.  von  Hartmann's  Aesthetics.  I  have  already  referred 
to  his  doctrine  that  the  make-believe  ego  derives  aesthetic 
satisfaction  from  pretence,  while  the  real  ego  stands 
quietly  in  the  background.  But  besides  these  apparent 
feelings  we  have  also  real  feelings,  while  we  enjoy  aes- 
thetic pleasure — namely,  our  real  delight  in  the  appar- 
ent, it  This  real  pleasure  that  belongs,  as  such,  to  the 
obscured  real  ego,  now  comes  over  into  the  sphere  of  the 

*  Binet,  Alterations  of  Personality. 

+  M.  Dessoir,  Das  Doppel-Ich,  p.  11. 

J  Von  Hartniann,  Aesthetik,  vol.  ii,  p.  64.  The  distinction  be- 
tween make-believe  and  real  feelings  is  well  illustrated  by  our  en- 
joyment of  tragedy,  where  an  unpleasant  sham  feeling  gives  real 
pleasure — namely,  aesthetic  satisfaction. 


3U  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

play  ego.  "  So  it  comes  about  that  the  happiness  pro- 
duced by  aesthetic  enjoyment  appears  as  something  ob- 
jective, belonging  to  the  play-scene,  and  not  as  a  condi- 
tion of  the  beholder's  soul.  It  is  like  a  great  ocean  of 
bliss  on  which  he  floats  and  moves  about  at  will,  having 
no  further  influence  than  to  stir  it  a  little,  just  as  a 
bather  gives  himself  up  to  passive  enjoyment  in  the  en- 
compassing element."  * 

This  appears  best  in  the  contemplation  of  supreme 
beauty  which  produces  aesthetic  pleasure  depending  on 
sensuous  pleasure.  Here  sensuous  pleasure,  an  emo- 
tion belonging  to  the  real  ego  and  susceptible  of  physi- 
ological explanation,  has  come,  by  means  of  an  uncon- 
scious connection,  into  the  sphere  of  make-believe,  and 
lent  to  the  object  that  divine  effulgence  which  is  an 
attribute  of  absolute  beauty,  f 

We  see,  then,  that  there  are  many  ways  and  occa- 
sions for  the  use  of  this  unconscious  connection  be- 
tween the  two  states  of  consciousness,  and  we  must 
suppose  that  even  in  the  most  absorbing  play  a  constant 
influence  is  mutually  exerted  between  them.  But  what 
is  the  character  of  this  influence?  It  would,  of  course, 
be  easiest  to  say  that,  though  the  real  ego  is  hidden,  it 
manages  to  convey  its  own  idea,  "  This  thing  is  not 
real,"  into  the  sphere  of  the  play-ego.  But  Lange's 
objection  answers  this;  he  says  that  while  it  is  possible 
for  a  fraud  and  faith  in  it  to  exist  side  by  side  in  two 
separate  consciousnesses,  it  is  inconceivable  that  they 
could  be  present  simultaneously  in  one  and  the  same 
sphere.  He  is  right,  and  if  we  observe  ourselves  care- 
fully we  will  find  that  it  is  as  far  from  the  truth  as 


*  Von  Hartmann.  Aesthetik,  vol.  ii.  p.  67. 

f  Cf.  Groos,  Einleitung  in  die  Aesthetik.  pp.  254  f. 


THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ANIMAL  PLAY.         315 

is  the  theory  of  regular  oscillation.  Neither  in  intense 
artistic  enjoyment  nor  in  genuine  play  does  the  con- 
scious thought,  "  This  is  only  a  sham,"  present  itself 
to  us.  When  I  said  above,  in  agreement  with  many 
others,  "  I  see  through  the  deception,  and  yet  give  my- 
self up  to  it,"  the  actual  working  of  consciousness  was, 
by  the  bluntness  of  logical  expression,  very  imperfectly 
described.  For  when  self-observation  assures  me  that  I 
have  given  myself  up  to  the  illusion,  and  yet  there  was  no 
alternation  with  reality,  the  logical  conclusion  arrived 
at  afterward  must  be  that  I  consciously  saw  through 
the  sham  while  I  was  enjoying  it. 

The  influence  proceeding  from  the  real  ego  is,  then, 
something  quite  different  from  this.  The  fact  that  in 
play  the  apparent  does  not  alternate  with  the  real  does 
not  prove  that  we  have  a  conscious  knowledge  of  the 
pretence.  The  solution  of  the  problem  seems  to  me  to 
lie  in  the  simple  fact  that  consciousness  of  the  apparent 
is  from  the  outset,  and,  in  spite  of  all  similarity,  quite 
different  from  consciousness  of  the  real;  and  I  find 
the  final  ground  for  this  difference  in  nothing  less  than 
the  fact  that  we  recognise  ourselves  as  the  cause  of  the 
pretence.*  This  brings  us  again  to  the  idea  of  joy  in 
being  a  cause ;  the  real  I  feels  itself  to  be  the  originator 
of  the  make-believe  images  and  emotions  which  it  calls 
forth  voluntarily,  and  this  feeling  of  being  a  cause  glides 
over  unconsciously  to  the  world  of  illusion  and  gives  to 
it  a  quality  not  possessed  by  reality.    Eeality  oppresses 

*  In  my  Einleitung  in  die  Aesthetik  (p.  82)  I  have  emphasized 
this,  and  have  encountered  the  criticism  of  having  expressed  opin- 
ions concerning  the  essence  of  the  soul  that  are  not  susceptible  of 
proof.  Here  we  are  only  concerned  with  the  fact  that  we  un- 
doubtedly feel  ourselves  to  be  the  cause ;  whether  we  really  are 
so  is  indifferent  for  the  purposes  of  a  psychology  of  play. 


316  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

us  with  a  sense  of  helplessness,  while  in  the  world  of  illu- 
sion we  feel  free  and  independent.  There  is  no  need 
to  say,  "  This  is  not  real/^  for  every  idea  and  feeling 
that  forms  part  of  the  illusion  bears  the  stamp  ipse 
feci,  and  can  not  be  confused  with  reality.  Only  when 
the  consciousness  of  being  a  cause  leaves  the  obscured 
real  ego  does  such  confusion  take  place,  and  then  the 
mind's  condition  ceases  to  be  playful  and  becomes 
pathological. 

Let  us  take  an  instance  of  the  dangerous  trifling  with 
the  emotional  nature,  so  common  in  our  day,  when  a 
nervous  and  excitable  person  arouses  his  emotions  with- 
out any  real  cause.  Marie  Baschkirtzew  writes  at  the 
age  of  thirteen  years:  "  Can  it  be  true?  I  find  every- 
thing good  and  beautiful,  even  tears  and  pain.  I  love 
to  weep,  I  love  to  despair,  I  love  to  be  sad.  I  love  life 
in  spite  of  all,  I  wish  to  live.  I  must  be  happy,  and  am 
happy  to  be  miserable.  My  body  weeps  and  cries,  but 
something  in  me  that  is  above  me  enjoys  it  all."  Can 
we  suppose  that  the  unhappy  young  girl  had  the  clear 
idea  amid  her  storm  of  emotion,  "  These  feelings 
have  no  real  cause,"  and  that  she  created  from  this 
knowledge  this  strange  ecstasy  of  pain?  Is  it  not 
much  more  probable  that  this  feeling  was  wanting  dur- 
ing the  rush  of  emotion,  and  that  what  produced  the 
ecstasy  was  the  feeling  of  pleasure  in  being  a  cause 
that  came  over  from  the  real  I,  the  feeling  that  all  this 
agitation  was  not  contrary  to  her  will  but  produced  by 
herself;  in  other  words,  the  feeling  of  being  active  and 
not  passive,  the  feeling  of  having  produced  a  sublimated 
kind  of  reality  through  her  own  psychic  activity? 
Only  afterward  comes  the  logical  formulation,  "  My  sor- 
rows, my  joys,  and  my  cares  have  no  existence" — an 
id^a  that  is  not  present  in  the  first  gush  of  feeling,  and 


THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ANIMAL  PLAY.         317 

if  it  were,  would  only  increase  the  pain  instead  of  chang- 
ing it  into  a  subject  for  rejoicing. 

I  believe,  therefore,  that  in  genuine  absorbing  play 
the  oscillation  from  appearance  to  reality  is  an  unneces- 
sary as  well  as  an  improbable  hypothesis.  The  idea  un- 
recognised by  consciousness  gliding  over  from  the  real 
ego,  that  the  whole  world  of  appearance  depends  on  our- 
selves, that  we  create  it  from  material  within  us,*  is 
sufficient  to  prevent  our  mistaking  the  make-believe  for 
reality,  without,  however,  making  it  necessary  for  us 
clearly  to  hold  the  difference  in  mind.f  This  conclu- 
sion brings  us  to  a  second  point,  which  we  may  now  con- 
sider, finding  in  it  a  more  definite  answer  to  the  question. 

2.  The  Feeling  of  Freedom  in  Make-helieve. 

Connecting  the  idea  of  freedom  with  that  of  make- 
believe  brings  us  back  to  Schiller.  There  are  two  kinds 
of  temperament  belonging  to  genius.  The  one  strives 
for  what  is  attainable,  the  other  for  what  is  not. 
Schiller  says:  "The  one  is  noble  by  reason  of  attain- 
ment, the  other  in  proportion  as  he  approaches  infinite 
greatness."  He  himself  belongs  to  the  second  class ;  he 
with  Michelangelo  and  Beethoven  are  types  of  the  eter- 
nally striving  and  struggling  genius  straining  for  the 
unattainable,  in  whom  the  artist's  gift  is  nourished  by 


»  This  is  why  we  are  proud  of  the  capacity  for  such  creation. 
It  is  a  kind  of  joy  in  being  able. 

+  In  support  of  this  position  I  appeal  again  to  the  tragic  drama. 
When  feelings  produced  by  inner  imitation,  and  voluntarily  called 
forth,  become  so  painful  as  to  counterbalance  the  pleasure  derived 
from  esthetic  satisfaction,  we  call  in  the  help  of  our  knowledge  of 
its  unreality  to  dampen  the  ardour  of  our  emotions.  But  so  long 
as  we  are  in  full  a-sthetic  enjoyment  we  do  not  think  of  this  until 
the  play  is  over,  though  it  is  responsible  for  half  our  pleasure. 


318  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

"  gleams  from  the  lamp  of  life  itself."  Schiller's  youth- 
ful philosophy  disclosed  this  principle  of  his  nature. 
Above  the  actual  worlds  with  its  suffering,  above  "  this 
dream  of  warring  frogs  and  mice,"  this  life  of  frivolity,  a 
lofty  spiritual  world  rises  in  glorious  perfection,  to 
which  he  ascribes  the  fulfilment  of  every  ideal  of  love, 
friendship,  joy,  and  freedom.  But  this  beautiful  world, 
already  threatened  by  Voltaire,  vanished  before  the 
chill  breath  of  the  destroyer  of  ideals — Kant.  Schiller 
expressed  his  pain  in  the  loss  of  the  ideal  in  his  Gods  of 
Greece.  That  noble  blooming  time  of  Nature  represents 
to  him  the  flowering  of  his  own  youthful  idealism;  and 
when  he  bewails  "  all  the  fair  blossoms  falling  before  the 
blasts  of  winter,"  much  that  is  personal  is  hidden  in  the 
words. 

The  ideal  is  only  a  dream,  a  beautiful  chimera,  but 
need  not,  therefore,  be  lost  to  us,  for  we  may  still  enjoy 
the  ideal  in  play;  and  with  this  conception,  the  poet 
rises  to  new  flights  which  open  the  classic  period  of  his 
creation. 

It  is  necessary  to  apprehend  this  fact  clearly  in  or- 
der to  understand  the  great  ethical  power  of  Schiller's 
-Esthetics,  which  is  for  him  not  merely  a  new  intellec- 
tual discipline,  but,  above  all,  a  new  victory  of  ethical 
personality.  Being  denied  metaphysical  ideals,  he  di- 
rects his  whole  ethical  force  to  the  realm  of  beauty, 
and  feels  that  in  virtue  of  his  art  he  is  a  priest  of  hu- 
manity, whose  honour  is  intrusted  to  his  care.  In  beau- 
tiful unreality  he  finds  again  all  that  he  dreamed  in 
youth,  harmony  of  feeling  and  impulse,  happiness,  free- 
dom, and  the  highest  perfection  of  mankind.  His  meta- 
physical idealism  comes  back  to  him  in  the  form  of 
aesthetic  idealism. 

Inquiring  more  closely  into  the  nature  of  this  aes- 


THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ANIMAL  PLAY.         319 

thetic  idealism,  we  find  that  it  culminates  in  the  feeling 
of  freedom;  when  indulging  in  it  a  man  is  free — that 
is  to  say,  he  is  wholly  human  only  when  he  plays,  for 
there  is  no  real  freedom  in  the  sphere  of  experience. 
In  real  life  the  man  is  a  plaything  of  opposing  forces. 
On  the  animal  side  of  his  nature,  the  sensuous,  he  is 
restrained  by  Nature's  laws,  while  reason  forces  him 
to  obey  imperious  moral  mandates,  and  a  perfect  recon- 
ciliation of  these  forces  is  impossible.  "  Between  pleas- 
ure of  the  senses  and  peace  of  mind  man  has  but  a 
sorry  choice.^'  Only  in  playing  and  indulging  in  beau- 
tiful dreams  can  a  man  find  relief  from  this  contention. 
Schiller  expressed  this  conviction  when  he  was  in 
Mannheim,  as  far  back  as  1784.  "  Our  nature,''  he 
says,  "  alike  incapable  of  remaining  in  the  condition  of 
animals  and  of  keeping  up  the  higher  life  of  reason, 
requires  a  middle  state,  where  the  opposite  ends  may 
unite,  the  harsh  tension  be  reduced  to  mild  harmonj^ 
and  the  transition  from  one  condition  to  the  other  be 
facilitated.  The  sesthetic  sense,  or  feeling  for  beauty, 
is  the  only  thing  that  can  fill  this  want."  And  what 
is  the  governing  idea  in  this  middle  state?  "This:  to 
be  a  complete  man."  *  By  reducing  in  his  play  the  harsh 
tension  to  mild  harmony  he  relieves  himself  of  the 
double  law  of  Nature  and  Eeason,  raises  himself  to  a 
state  of  freedom,  and  so  first  attains  his  full  humanity. 
The  result  achieved  in  play  is  "  the  symbol  of  his  true 
vocation."  f 

Schiller  says:  "The  sensuous  impulse  must  be  ex- 
pressed, must  attain  its  object;  the  form  impulse  ex- 
presses itself  and  produces  its  object;  but  the  play  im- 

*  Schiller,  Die  Schambuhne  als  eine  Moralische  Anstalt  be- 
trachtet. 

t  Aesth.  Erziehung,  fourteenth  letter. 


320  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

pulse  strives  to  receive  as  if  itself  had  produced  tlie 
object,  and  to  give  forth  what  sense  is  labouring  to  ab- 
sorb. The  sensuous  impulse  excludes  from  its  subject 
all  self-activity  and  freedom;  the  form  impulse  ex- 
cludes all  dependence  and  passivity.  But  the  exclusion 
of  freedom  is  physical  necessity,  and  the  exclusion  of 
passivity  is  moral  necessity.  Both  impulses  constrain 
the  soul,  one  by  natural  laws,  the  other  by  moral  laws. 
The  play  impulse,  then,  uniting  them,  affects  the  mind 
both  morally  and  physically,  lifts  it  above  both  acci- 
dent and  necessity,  and  sets  man  free,  physically  and 
morally.''  *  "  The  term  '  play  impulse  '  is  justified  by 
the  usages  of  language,  which  signifies  by  the  word  play 
(Spiel)  all  that  is  neither  contingent  subjectively  or  ob- 
jectively, nor  yet  either  internally  or  externally  com- 
pelled. Thus  the  mind,  by  beholding  the  beautiful, 
is  placed  in  a  happy  mean  between  law  and  necessity, 
and  relieved  from  the  oppression  of  either,  because  it 
is  divided  between  the  two."  f 

Passing  over  Schiller's  hair-splitting  method  of  es- 
tablishing the  equilibrium  between  the  two  opposing 
impulses — which  he  suspended  like  two  equal  weights 
in  a  balance,  being  still  controlled  by  the  old  theory  of 
faculties — and  without  elaborating  these  ancient  ideas, 
we  will  rather  attempt  to  translate  them  into  modern 
ps3Thological  language.  First,  then,  Schiller  is  perfect- 
ly right  in  designating  the  feeling  of  freedom  as  the 
highest  and  most  important  factor  in  the  satisfaction  de- 
rived from  play,  and  further  in  finding  it  closely  re- 
lated to  the  feeling  of  necessity.  We  feel  free  although 
we  are  compelled;  this  is  indeed  the  very  essence  of 

*  Aesth.  Erziehuner.  fourteenth  letter. 
f  Ibid.,  fifteenth  letter. 


THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ANIMAL  PLAY.         321 

play.  We  are  compelled,  for  sham  occupation  is  re- 
lated to  the  hypnotic  condition  in  that  it  treats  mere 
appearance  as  if  it  were  reality.  The  make-believe  I  fol- 
lows all  the  turns  of  playful  activity,  yielding  obedient 
service  to  the  intellectual  and  emotional  stimuli  which 
they  evolve,  and  yet  this  compulsion  is  not  like  that 
which  oppresses  us  in  actual  experience,  for  the  fact 
is  always  present  to  our  consciousness  that  we  are  the 
creators  of  this  world  of  appearances.  "The  reality 
of  things,"  says  Schiller,  "  is  inherent  in  them,  the  ap- 
pearance of  things  is  man's  affair,  and  the  state  of 
mind  that  is  nourished  by  appearance  takes  more  pleas- 
ure in  its  own  activity  than  in  anything  that  it  re- 
ceives." *  We  are  compelled,  because  we  are  under  the 
power  of  an  illusion,  and  we  are  free  because  we  produce 
the  illusion  voluntarily.  Indeed,  it  may  safely  be  said 
that  we  never  feel  so  free  as  when  we  are  playing. 

Apart  from  all  transcendental  considerations,  free  ac- 
tivity, regarded  from  a  psychological  standpoint,  depends 
on  our  ability  to  do  just  what  we  wish  to  do,  and  on 
no  other  ground;  this  is  the  positive  side,  and  the  nega- 
tive side  is  that  we  have  the  conviction  that  we  can  ab- 
stain from  the  act  at  any  moment  that  pleases  us.  The 
popular  idea  is  correct  in  calling  a  man  free  when  he 
does  and  leaves  undone  what  he  chooses,  for  the  feeling 
of  being  at  liberty  consists  in  regarding  ourselves  as 
the  arbiters  of  our  own  destiny.  Whatever  error  the 
theoretical  metaphysician  may  think  it  necessary  to 
combat  in  this  statement,  it  remains  a  psychological 
fact  that  we  do  have  such  a  feeling,  and  that  it  is  of 
incalculable  practical  significance.  Let  us  see  in  what 
it  consists.     We  feel  ourselves  to  be  absolute  causes — 


*  Aesth.  Erziehung,  twenty-sixth  letter. 


322  THE   PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

that  is  to  say,  we  feel  ourselves  to  be  governed  entirely 
by  ourselves,  by  our  present  will.  Xo  "  not  I ""  seems 
to  us  to  influence  either  our  present  object  or  the  idea 
of  our  former  or  future  experience;  we  seem  to  be  di- 
vided from  the  all-powerful  causal  nexus  pervading  the 
ages,  and  to  be  at  liberty  to  fulfil  our  present  desires 
unencumbered  by  circumstances  or  consequences.  We 
seem,  as  Kant  expresses  it,  to  begin  a  causal  series  "  self- 
originated  and  elemental.'^  * 

The  feeling  of  freedom  is  undoubtedly  heightened 
by  our  conviction  that  we  can  desist  from  an  act  at 
any  moment.  "  I  am  still  free  "  is  the  same  as  "  I  can 
yet  turn  back."  Here,  also,  freedom  is  identical  with 
being  an  absolute  cause,  for  if  I  were  able  only  to  set  an 
act  on  foot,  but  not  go  on  with  it,  my  freedom  would 
vanish  as  soon  as  my  causality  ceased.  So  the  struggle 
for  liberty  turns  out  to  be  the  highest  psychic  accom- 
paniment of  the  struggle  for  life.  The  instinctive  pro- 
pensity of  all  living  creatures  to  preserve  their  inde- 
pendence, to  shake  off  every  attempt  on  individual 
liberty,  culminates  in  the  effort  after  intellectual  lib- 
erty. The  joy  of  freedom  is  the  sublimest  flight  of 
that  pleasure  in  being  a  cause,  which  has  occupied  so 
much  of  our  attention. 

But  where  can  the  feeling  of  freedom  be  purer  or 
more  intense  than  in  conscious  self-illusion  in  the 
realm  of  play?  In  real  life  we  are  always  in  servitude 
to  objects  and  under  the  double  weight  of  past  and 
future.  These  objects,  intelligent  and  otherwise,  for 
the  most  part  oppose  our  wills  or  assume  authority 
over  us.     Care  for  the  future  torments  us  and  robs  us 


*  Critique   of   Pure   Reason   (p.   435    of    Kehrbach's   German 
edition). 


THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ANIMAL  PLAY.         323 

of  our  freedom  of  action.  The  past,  which  no  more  be- 
longs to  our  living  ego,  is  riveted  to  us  with  iron  bolts 
so  that  we  can  not  escape  from  it.  And  where  in  real 
life  is  the  feeling  that  we  always  might  turn  back — 
might  step  out  of  the  causal  series?  Perhaps  our  resolu- 
tion seems  to  be  free,  but  as  soon  as  stern  realities  beset 
us  we  fall  again  under  the  resistless  causal  nexus  of  the 
universe,  and  no  power  on  earth  can  send  back  the 
arrow  that  is  loosed  from  the  bowstring.  We  may  well 
suppose  that  it  was  under  bitter  experience  of  the  inevi- 
tableness  of  necessity  that  Schiller  described  Wallen- 
stein's  condition  with  such  force  of  genius.  Perhaps  the 
power  of  the  "  not  I ''  over  the  "  I  "  has  never  been  more 
tragically  set  forth  than  in  that  great  monologue,  where 
we  see  the  unlucky  stars  depriving  the  hero  of  his 
freedom : 

"  Is  it  possible  ? 
Is't  so  ?     I  can  no  longer  what  I  u'ould  9 
No  longer  draw  back  at  my  liking,  I 
Must  do  the  deed  because  I  thought  of  it? 

I  but  amused  myself  with  thinking  of  it. 
The  free  will  tempted  me,  the  power  to  do 
Or  not  to  do  it. — Was  it  criminal 
To  make  the  fancy  minister  to  hope  ? 

Was  not  the  will  kept  free  ?    Beheld  I  not 

The  road  of  duty  close  beside  me — but 

One  little  step  and  once  more  I  was  in  it ! 

Where  am  I  ?     Whither  have  I  been  transported  f 

No  road,  no  track  behind  me,  but  a  wall 

Impenetrable,  insupportable. 

Rises  obedient  to  the  spells  1  muttered 

And  meant  not — my  own  doings  tower  behind  me. 

Stern  is  the  on-look  of  Necessity. 

Not  without  shudder  may  a  human  hand 

Grasp  the  mysterious  urn  of  destiny. 


324  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

My  deed  was  mine,  remaining  in  my  bosom : 
Once  suffered  to  escape  from  its  safe  corner 
Within  the  heart,  its  nursery  and  birthplace, 
Sent  forth  into  the  Foreign,  it  belongs 
Forever  to  those  sly,  malicious  powers 
Whom  never  art  of  man  conciliated."  * 

"  Stern  is  the  on-look  of  necessity,"  says  Wallenstein, 
and  "  Life  itself  is  stern/'  cries  Schiller  in  the  pro- 
logue to  the  same  drama.  But — "  art  is  brighter  and 
more  cheerful."  The  effect  of  play  is  brightness  and 
freedom — so  much  so  that  we  may  say,  in  real  life  there 
is  freedom  only  so  long  as  serious  activity  is  not  yet 
begun — that  is,  while  the  man  still  plays  with  con- 
flicting motives.  What  do  the  advocates  of  indetermi- 
nism  mean  by  freedom?  It  is  to  them  the  ability  to 
choose  among  various  motives;  but  this  choice  is  noth- 
ing but  a  play  in  which  the  man  represents  to  himself 
now  this,  now  that  motive  as  realized;  it  is  a  conscious 
self -illusion.  And  only  when  he  has  indulged  in  it 
does  he  feel,  after  the  decision  is  made,  that  he  has 
acted  freely.  Wallenstein's  monologue  has  a  special 
interest  in  this  connection;  for,  since  he  found  pleasure 
in  amusing  himself  with  the  mere  thought  of  royalty 
and  delighted  in  the  illusion,  it  is  clear  that  for  him 
the  feeling  of  freedom  consisted  in  this  play  of  motives. 
The  word  for  play  in  most  languages  signifies  only  a 
pleasurable  condition,  but  the  old  German  word  Spi- 
lan  means  a  light  floating  movement  f  — that  is  to  say, 
free  activity — giving  to  the  modern  word  Spielen  a 
primary  significance  which  bears  out  our  analysis. 
Freed  from  the  causal  nexus  of  the  world's  events,  play 

*  From  Coleridge's  English  version  of  The  Death  of  Wallen- 
stein. 

f  M.  Lazarus,  Ueber  die  Reize  des  Spiels,  Berlin,  1883,  p.  19. 


THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ANIMAL  PLAY.         325 

is  a  world  to  itself,  into  which  we  enter  voluntarily 
and  come  out  when  we  will.  There  we  seem  freed 
from  necessity  because  in  conscious  self -illusion  we  feel 
ourself  to  be  an  absolute  cause. 

We  are  now  approaching  the  end  of  our  inquiry.  The 
joy  in  being  a  cause  having  culminated  in  the  highest 
and  most  refined  of  pleasurable  feelings — namely,  in  that 
of  liberty — we  find  here  the  deep  significance  of  that  di- 
vision of  consciousness  which  occupied  us  in  the  last 
section.  The  difficulty  of  explaining  it  consists  in  the 
fact  that  in  play  we  take  appearance  for  reality,  and 
still  do  not  confuse  it  with  the  actual.  In  many  cases 
the  leaping  over  of  our  consciousness  to  the  real  I  is 
conceivable,  but  in  the  most  intense  enjoyment  this 
off-shooting  of  consciousness  does  not  take  place,  and  we 
must  suppose  an  unconscious  connection  between  the  real 
and  play  egos  that  obviates  the  necessity  for  this  alterna- 
tion. We  have  found  such  a  connection  in  the  feeling 
of  being  a  cause  without  going  into  the  nature  of  these 
psychic  adjuncts  of  make-believe.  This  is  now  the  place 
for  such  an  inquiry. 

I  have  throughout  this  whole  treatise  spoken  not  of 
the  idea  but  of  the  feeling  of  being  a  cause.  A  conscious 
idea  that  we  ourselves  produce  the  appearnce  is  as  little 
supposable  during  intense  enjoyment  as  the  idea,  "  This 
is  only  a  pretence."  What  glides  over  from  the  real  I, 
and  is  recognisable  by  self-observation,  is  only  the  feel- 
ing of  pleasure  arising  from  the  consciousness  of  being  a 
cause  and  culminating  in  the  feeling  of  freedom.  There 
are,  empirically  speaking,  no  pure  feelings  that  can  be 
distinguished  from  ideas  as  such,  no  abstract  pleasure  or 
pain.*    Feeling  is  always,  in  its  finer  manifestations,  the 

*  Cf.  Lehmann,  Hauptgesetze  des  Gefiililslebens,  p.  16. 


326  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

product  of  intellectuality,  but  the  intellectual  elements 
are  latent  and  are  manifested  only  in  the  shading  that 
they  impart  to  the  emotions.  So  is  it  in  the  case  we 
are  considering.  The  consciousness  of  the  obscured 
real  ego  that  has  produced  *  the  whole  illusion,  and  so 
created  a  free  world  of  appearance  above  the  causal 
nexus  of  reality,  does  not  appear  conspicuously  in  the 
feeling  of  freedom  that  oversteps  the  bounds  of  the 
apparent  world,  but  does  impart  to  it  a  character  that 
distinguishes  it  from  all  other  pleasurable  feelings. 
This  characteristic  seems  to  me  to  form  the  barrier  that 
prevents  our  confusing  the  make-believe  with  the  real. 

The  artist  always  employs  some  means  to  prevent 
such  confusion — the  frame,  for  example,  in  painting 
and  the  pedestal  for  a  statue.  Theodor  Alt  f  includes 
all  such  means  under  the  general  name  of  "  negative 
effects,"  while  Conrad  Lange  calls  them  "  illusion-de- 
stroying effects."  X  In  play  the  feeling  of  freedom  sub- 
jectively performs  the  office  of  these  objective  means. 
It  gives  the  whole  world  of  appearance  a  special  col- 
ouring, distinguishing  it  from  everything  that  is  real, 
and  rendering  it  impossible  that  even  in  our  utmost 
absorption  we  should  ever  confuse  the  make-believe  with 
the  real.  As  in  assthetic  enjoyment,  the  real  pleasure 
in  beholding — which  is,  after  all,  only  a  special  case  of 
our   general   principle — steps   over   into   the   apparent 

*  Th.  Ziegler  says  of  the  feeling  of  freedom  :  "  But  what  is  the 
nature  of  this  feehng?  Only 'that  all  my  actions  proceed  from 
myself,  that  I  am  the  cause  of  them ' ;  it  is  closely  related  to  the 
feeling  of  power,  one  side  of  it,  so  to  speak,  isolated,  strength- 
ened, and  generalized,  and  belonging  to  the  whole  ego  ;  just  as  in 
the  feeling  of  dependence,  on  the  contrary,  the  essential  thing  is 
subjection  of  the  ego  as  a  whole,"    (Das  Gefuhl,  p.  293,) 

f  Alt,  System  der  Kunst,  p.  23. 

X  Die  bewusste  Selbsttauschung,  p,  20. 


THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ANIMAL  PLAY.         327 

world  and  changes  it  into  a  better  and  higher  one,  so 
in  conscious  play  the  whole  sham  occupation  is  trans- 
formed by  the  feeling  of  freedom  into  something 
higher,  freer,  finer,  and  more  luminous,  which  we  can  not 
confuse  with  the  realities  of  life.  The  feeling  of 
freedom,  then,  is  the  subjective  analogue  to  the  objective 
"  destroyers  of  illusion.'^    Life  is  earnest,  art  is  playful. 

I  wish  to  append  to  this  concluding  chapter  a  brief 
note.  Should  a  question  be  raised  as  to  the  nature  of 
the  artistic  production  whose  germ  is  present  in  the 
animals,  the  following  may  serve  as  an  answer:  First, 
there  is  the  commonest  of  all  kinds  of  play,  experi- 
mentation, which,  with  its  accompanying  joy  in  the 
possession  of  power,  may  be  regarded  as  the  principal 
source  of  all  kinds  of  art.  We  have  also  found,  in  the 
excitement  created  by  musical  sounds,  an  approach  to 
human  art.  We  recall  the  monkey  that  took  great 
pleasure  in  striking  on  hollow  objects.  From  experi- 
mentation in  general  three  specialized  forms  of  play 
arise,  analogous  to  the  human  arts,  and  their  differ- 
entiation leads  us  to  the  three  most  important  prin- 
ciples of  the  latter.  They  are  courtship,  imitation,  and 
the  constructive  arts,  and  the  three  principles  involved 
are  those  of  self-exhibition,  imitation,  and  decoration. 
These  principles  are  expressed  in  art  as  the  personal, 
the  true,  and  the  beautiful.  There  is  no  form  of  art 
in  which  they  are  not  present  together,  though  one 
usually  dominates,  while  the  others  are  subsidiary. 
This  is  evident  even  in  the  animal  world.  Th-e  bird 
that  adorns  his  nest  imitates  the  example  of  others,  and 
expresses  his  personality  in  the  work.  The  bird  that 
mimics  another  often  effects  an  improvement  in  his  own 

song,  and  indulges  in  self -exhibition ;  and  the  bird  that 
23 


328 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 


displays  his  skill  to  admiring  females  does  not  fail  to 
employ  the  principles  of  imitation  and  decoration.  So 
we  find  in  animals,  and  especially  in  birds  who,  though  so 
distantly  related  to  us,  seem  by  reason  of  their  upright 
carriage  more  near,  a  certain  analogy  to  our  own  system 
of  arts;  indeed,  in  the  simplest  phenomena  displayed  in 
the  animal  world  we  recognise  an  important  suggestion 
as  to  the  solution  of  the  vexed  question  of  the  proper 
natural  division  of  human  arts.  The  recognition  of  the 
three  fundamental  principles,  which  are,  however,  held 
together  to  the  single  one  of  experimentation,  seems  to 
me  a  gain,  as  opposed  to  the  one-sidedness  of  many  in- 
vestigators. This  relationship  points  directly  to  the  fact 
that  all  forces  efficacious  in  artistic  production  are  refer- 
able to  the  central  idea  of  play,  and  therefore  to  an  in- 
stinctive foundation.  The  following  table  will  make  this 
clear : 

PLAY. 

Experimentation. 
(Joy  in  being  able.) 

(Pretence :  conscious  self-deception.) 


Self-exhibition. 

Imitation. 

Decoration. 

The  personal. 

The  true. 

The  beautiful. 

With       (  Courtship 
animals.    \      arts. 

f  Dance  with 
1      excitement. 
With      ]  Music. 

man. "]  Lyric  poetry. 

Imitative  arts. 

Imitative  dance. 

Pantomime. 

Sculpture. 

Painting. 

Epic  poetry. 

Drama. 

Building  arts. 

Ornamentation. 
Architecture. 

EDITOR'S   APPENDIX 
ON   ORGANIC   SELECTION  * 


In  certain  recent  publications  f  an  hypothesis  has 
been  presented  which  seems  in  some  degree  to  mediate 
between  the  two  current  theories  of  heredity.  The  point 
of  view  taken  in  these  publications  is  briefly  this:  Assum- 
ing the  operation  of  natural  selection  as  currently  held, 
and  assuming  also  that  individual  organisms  through 
adaptation  acquire  modifications  or  new  characters,  then 
the  latter  will  exercise  a  directive  influence  on  the  for- 
mer quite  independently  of  any  direct  inheritance  of  ac- 
quired characters.    For  organisms  which  survive  through 


*  See  pp.  64,  65,  above.  This  appendix  reproduces  a  com- 
munication made  to  Science  (April  23,  1897)  and  Nature  (April  15, 
1897),  slightly  revised. 

f  H.  F.  Osborn,  Proceedings  of  the  New  York  Academy  of  Sci- 
ence, meeting  of  March  9  and  April  13,  1896,  reported  in  Science, 
April  3  and  November  27,  1896 ;  also  American  Naturalist,  No- 
vember, 1897.  C.  Lloyd  Morgan,  Habit  and  Instinct,  October, 
1896,  pp.  307  ff.,  also  printed  in  Science,  November  20,  1896. 
J.  Mark  Baldwin,  discussion  before  the  New  York  Academy  of 
Science,  meeting  of  January  31st,  reported  in  full  in  Science, 
March  20,  1896,  also  American  Naturalist,  June  and  July,  1896 ; 
also  see  other  references  given  above,  p.  64.  The  following  brief 
statement  was  prepared  in  consultation  with  Principal  Morgan 
and  Professor  Osborn. 

329 


330  THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 

adaptive  modification  will  hand  on  to  the  next  genera- 
tion any  "  coincident  variations  '^  (i.  e.,  congenital  varia- 
tions in  the  same  direction  as  adaptive  modifications) 
which  they  may  chance  to  have,  and  also  allow  fur- 
ther variations  in  the  same  direction.  In  any  given 
series  of  generations,  the  individuals  of  which  survive 
through  their  susceptibility  to  modification,  there  will  be 
a  gradual  and  cumulative  development  of  coincident 
variations  under  the  action  of  natural  selection.  The 
adaptive  modification  acts,  in  short,  as  a  screen  to  per- 
petuate and  develop  congenital  variations  and  correlated 
groups  of  these.  Time  is  thus  given  to  the  species  to 
develop  by  coincident  variation  characters  indistinguish- 
able from  those  which  were  due  to  acquired  modification, 
and  the  evolution  of  the  race  will  proceed  in  the  lines 
marked  out  by  private  and  individual  adaptations.  It 
will  appear  as  if  the  modifications  were  directly  inher- 
ited, whereas  in  reality  they  have  acted  as  the  fostering 
nurses  of  congenital  variations. 

It  follows  also  that  the  likelihood  of  the  occurrence 
of  coincident  variations  will  be  greatly  increased  with 
each  generation,  under  this  "  screening "  influence  of 
modification;  for  the  mean  of  the  congenital  variations 
will  be  shifted  in  the  direction  of  the  adaptive  modifica- 
tion, seeing  that  under  the  operation  of  natural  selec- 
tion upon  each  preceding  generation  variations  which 
are  not  coincident  tend  to  be  eliminated.* 

Furthermore,  it  has  recently  been  shown  that,  inde- 
pendently of  physicial  heredity,  there  is  among  the  ani- 
mals a  process  by  which  there  is  secured  a  continuity 
of  social  environment,  so  that  those  organisms  which  are 

*  This  aspect  of  the  subject  has  been  especially  eraphasizerl  in 
my  own  exposition,  American  Naturalist,  June,  1896,  pp.  147  ff. 


EDITOR'S  APPENDIX  ON  ORGANIC  SELECTION.  331 

born  into  a  social  community,  such  as  the  animal  family, 
accommodate  themselves  to  the  ways  and  habits  of  that 
community.  Prof.  Lloyd  Morgan,*  following  Weis- 
mann  and  Hudson,  has  employed  the  term  "  tradition  '^ 
for  the  handing  on  of  that  which  has  been  acquired  by 
preceding  generations ;  and  I  have  used  the  phrase  "  so- 
cial heredity  "  for  the  accommodation  of  the  individuals 
of  each  generation  to  the  social  environment,  whereby 
the  continuity  of  tradition  is  secured,  f 

It  appears  desirable  that  some  definite  scheme  of 
terminology  should  be  suggested  to  facilitate  the  discus- 
sion of  these  problems  of  organic  and  mental  evolution; 
and  I  therefore  venture  to  submit  the  following: 

1.  Variation:  to  be  restricted  to  "  blastogenic "  or 
congenital  variation. 

2.  Accommodation:  functional  adaptation  of  the  in- 
dividual organism  to  its  environment.  This  term  is 
widely  used  in  this  sense  by  psychologists,  and  in  an 
analogous  sense  by  physiologists.  J 

3.  Modification  (Lloyd  Morgan)  :  change  of  struc- 
ture or  function  due  to  accommodation.  To  supercede 
"  ontogenic  variations  "  (Osborn) — i.  e.,  changes  arising 
from  all  causes  during  ontogeny. 

4.  Coincident  Variations  (Lloyd  Morgan)  :  varia- 
tions which  coincide  with  or  are  similar  in  direction  to 
modifications. 

*  Introduction  to  Comparative  Psychology,  pp.  170,  210;  Habit 
and  Instinct,  pp.  183,  342. 

f  j\[ental  Development  in  the  Child  and  the  Race,  first  edition, 
January,  1895,  p.  364;  Science,  August  23,  1895;  more  fully 
treated  in  Social  and  Ethical  Interpretations.  1897,  chap.  ii. 

X  It  may  be  thought  that  "individual  adaptation"  suffices  for 
this ;  but  that  phrase  does  not  mark  well  the  distinction  between 
"  accommodation  "  and  "  modification."  Adaptation  is  used  cur- 
rently in  a  loose  general  sense. 


332  THE  PLAY  OF  AXIMALS. 

5.  Organic  Selection  (Baldwin)  :  the  perpetuation 
and  development  of  (congenital)  coincident  variations 
in  consequence  of  accommodation. 

6.  Orthoplasy  (Baldwin)  :  the  directive  or  determin- 
ing influence  of  organic  selection  in  evolution.* 

7.  Ortho plastic  Influences  (Baldwin)  :  all  agencies 
of  accommodation  (e.  g.,  organic  plasticity,  imitation, 
intelligence,  etc.),  considered  as  directing  the  course  of 
evolution  through  organic  selection. 

8.  Tradition  (Lloyd  Morgan)  :  the  handing  on  from 
generation  to  generation  (independently  of  physical  he- 
redity) of  acquired  habits. 

9.  Social  Heredity  (Baldwin)  :  the  process  by  which 
the  individuals  of  each  generation  acquire  the  matter  of 
tradition  and  grow  into  the  habits  and  usages  of  their 

kind.f 

J.  Mark  Baldwin. 


*  Eimer's  "  orthogenesis  "  might  be  adopted  were  it  possible  to 
free  it  from  association  with  his  hypotheses  of  "  orthogenic "  or 
'determinate"  variation,  and  use-inheritance.  The  view  which  I 
wish  to  characterize  is  in  some  degree  a  substitute  for  these  hy- 
potheses. 

f  For  further  justification  of  the  terms  "  Social  Heredity  "  and 
"Organic  Selection,"  I  may  refer  to  the  American  Naturalist, 
July,  1896,  pp.  552  ff. 


INDEX 


Acquisitiveness,  165. 

Adaptation  of  sense  organs,  211. 

Addison,  on  instinct,  27. 

-^lian,  imitation  in  monkeys,  184. 

Esthetic  pleasure,  162,  223,  231. 

Alix,  on  the  origin  of  reflexes,  65 ; 
instinct  and  intelligence,  69  ;  play 
of  animals,  83  ;  experimentation 
by  a  dog,  91 ;  coasting  by  a  dog, 
115  ;  climbing  by  a  gibbon,  119  ; 
chasing  by  a  dog,  125 ;  a  musical 
dog,  189  ;  Drongo  paradisier,  200 ; 
deception  in  a  dog,  297,  305. 

Allen,  Grant,  on  Schiller,  3. 

Alt,  326. 

Altum,  24. 

Animal  friendship,  171. 

Anschutz,  curiosity  of  horses,  217. 

Ants,  chasing  plays,  130 ;  fighting 
plays,  140. 

Ant-eater,  137. 

Antelope,  courtship  play  of,  254. 

Apparent  I  or  play  ego,  305  fl". 

Apperception,  214,  227. 

Aquatic  birds,  teaching,  106  ;  court-  j 
ship,  262. 

Attention,  214,  227. 

Audubon,  carrier  pigeons,  181 ;  love 
plays  of  night  hawk  and  mocking 
bird,  259  ;  song  of  the  cardinal, 
277. 

Autenrieth,  on  caterpillars,  41. 

Azara,  execution  by  rats,  209;  the 
oscilador,  258. 


Badger,  106,  107,  113, 122, 138. 

Bain,  on  instinct,  32 ;  on  the  move- 
ments of  a  newborn  lamb,  33, 
78. 

Baldamus,  on  the  night  heron,  150. 

Baldenstein,  on  vultures,  96. 148. 

Baldwin,  J.  Mark,  Editor's  Preface ; 
on  walking  reflex,  44  ;  on  the  in- 
heritance of  acquired  characters, 
56,  64 ;  on  heredity  and  instinct, 
61 ;  instinct  and  intelligence,  71, 75, 
78;  self-exhibition,  166;  observa- 
tion of  mocking  birds,197, 277;  im- 
itation, 207  ;  organic  selection,  239, 
xlppendix ;  make-believe,  301. 

Baltz,  nursing  play  among  cats,  174. 

Barrington,  bird  song  not  inherited, 
72. 

Baschkirtzew,  divided  conscious- 
ness, 316. 

Bastard  nightingale,  159. 

Bates,  fighting  plays  of  ants,  141. 

Bateson,  on  selection,  64. 

Baya-bird,  150. 

Bear,  experimentation,  87 ;  move- 
ment play,  113;  tussling,  142; 
imitation,  191. 

Bearded  titmouse,  110. 

Beauty,  animals'  feeling  for  it,  162, 
168,  230,  240  ;  divided  conscious- 
ness in  sense  of,  319;  relation  to 
decoration,  327. 

Beckmann,  on  raccoons,  89, 137, 143 ; 
chasing  play  of  a  badger,  129. 


334 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 


Beckstein,  imitation  in  birds,  201 ; 
song  of  nightingale,  276. 

Bell  bird,  252,  260. 

Beneke,  on  the  surplus  -  energy- 
theory,  2;  habits  of  macropods, 
102. 

Bennati,  musical  dog,  189. 

Bennett,  the  ape's  skill  in  climbing, 
118  ;  propensity  for  teasing,  137  ; 
on  the  duckbill,  142. 

Bezold,  nursing  play  of  dogs,  172. 

Binet,  on  instinct  in  learning  to 
walk,  43 ;  divided  consciousness 
in  dreams,  309 ;  experiments  with 
hysteria,  313. 

Bittern,  pairing  call,  282. 

Brehm,  A.  E.,  on  instinct,  28,  34 
destructiveness  of  cockatoos,  95 
experimentation  by  puma,  86 
movement  plays  of  stickleback, 
100  ;  teaching  the  young,  106  ;  on 
the  marten,  111 ;  sliding  of  cham- 
ois, 114 ;  cats'  play  with  victims, 
122;  chase  plays  of  cougar,  120; 
weasel,  121;  cat,  131;  dog,  132; 
ocelot,  134  ;  tussling  of  monkeys, 
137 ;  of  ibis,  139  ;  of  hyena,  142 ; 
of  curly  bear,  147 ;  fighting  of 
buzzards,  148 ;  imitative  play, 
186,  200;  voice  practice  of  lions, 
210 ;  curiosity  of  monkeys,  215 ; 
of  keanastor,  220 ;  love  plays,  215, 
258,  263  ;  song  of  finches,  275  ;  of 
scarlet  shrike,  277;  pairing  call 
of  bittern,  282. 

Brehm,  Charles  L.,  flight  of  falcons, 
105  ;  fighting  plays  of  birds,  129, 
145;  imitation,  196,  202;  intelli- 
gence of  birds.  251,  254;  love 
plays  of  birds,  256,  267,  279,  280. 

Brehm,  L.,  experimentation  by 
bears,  87  ;  by  vultures,  95 ;  nurs- 
ing plays  of  monkeys,  194;  curi- 
osity of  vultures,  222. 

Brooks  on  the  inheritance  of  ac- 
quired characters,  56. 


Brunetiere,  on  positivism,  31. 

Buchner,  on  instinct,  32,  34,  37,  106; 
fighting  plays  of  ants,  140 ;  nurs- 
ing plays,  170  ;  coquetry  of  bii'ds, 
285. 

Bulengerus,  on  play  as  recreation, 
16 ;  play  of  fishes,  100. 

Bulfinch,  imitation,  199 ;  experi- 
mentation, 187 ;  display  of  plum- 
age, 269  ;  song  of  the  female,  280. 

Butterfiy  courtship,  265. 

Calf,  fighting  play  of,  144. 

Canary,  experimentation,  86  ;  flight, 
103  ;  swinging,  110  ;  learning  to 
sing,  190 ;  imitation,  195 ;  talking, 
197  ;  curiosity,  223  ;  intelligence, 
252 ;  song  of  female,  280 ;  co- 
quetry, 285. 

Capucin  ape,  experimentation,  92. 

Cardinal,  song,  277. 

Carolina  parrot,  destructiveness,  95. 

Carrier  pigeon,  imitation,  181. 

Cartesius.     See  Descartes. 

Carus,  on  instinct,  30  ;  weaving  by 
birds,  156  ;  vanity  of  birds,  267. 

Cat,  play  with  mock  prey,  19,  21, 
130 ;  experimentation,  87,  97 ; 
movement  play,  114 ;  play  with 
mice,  121 ;  tussling,  141 ;  nursing 
play,  173;  imitation,  183;  mass 
play,  208 ;  curiosity,  215 ;  con- 
certs, 273. 

Cato,  on  parrots  in  Kome,  202. 

Celius,  speech  in  parrots,  203. 

Cerocebus  albigena,  aesthetic  per- 
ception, 226. 

Chamois,  114,  144,  217. 

Chauna  chavarria,  voice  practice, 
98,  211 ;  flight,  108. 

Chickens,  learning  to  walk,  107 ; 
imitation,  195. 

Chimpanzee,  experimentation,  92; 
delight  in  noise,  96 ;  imitation,  186. 

Cockatoo,  destructiveness,  95 ;  imi- 
tation, 206. 


INDEX. 


535 


Comte,  the  law  of  three  stages,  30. 
Condillac,  on  divided  consciousnes^s, 

305. 
Condor,  flight,  108. 
Consciousness,  in  instinct,  65;  di- 
vision of,  303  ;  limits  of,  305. 
Constructive  arts,  152. 
Coquetry,  244,  283. 
Courtship,  97,  99,  106,  130,  135,  145, 

211. 
Cows,    fighting    play,    144 ;    mass 

play,    208;    an    execution,    209; 

curiosity,  216. 
Coyness,  243,  283. 
Crane,  flight,  108;  courtship  play, 

261 ;  intelligence,  262 ;  dancing, 

263. 
Crested  fly-catcher,  nest-buildins, 

159. 
Crested  lark,  imitation,  199. 
Crocodile,  curiosity,  220. 
Crossbill,  flight,  216. 
Crow,  thieving,  159 ;  imitation,  183 ; 

execution,  209,  211. 
Cuckoo,  love  play,  270;  coquetry, 

219. 
Curiosity,  185,  214. 

Dancing,  268. 

Darwin,  Charles,  on  instinct,  25, 46, 
67  ;  inheritance  of  acquired  char- 
acters, 44,  59 ;  instinct  aud  intelli- 
gence, 67;  play  of  adults,  81; 
flight  of  condor,  109 ;  play  with 
prey,  121,  123;  chasing  play  of 
monkeys,  134;  fighting  plays  of 
Tetrao  umbellus,  146 ;  weaver 
bird,  156;  viscacha,  158;  bower 
bird,  161 ;  feeling  for  beauty 
among  animals,  239 ;  sexual  se- 
lection, 231,  246;  imitation  by 
wolves  and  dogs,  190;  chickens 
learning  to  drink,  195  ;  execution 
by  animals,  210 ;  curiosity  of 
monkeys,  215;  dancing  of  the 
Tetrao  phasianellus,  264;   court- 


ship of  mammals,  266  ;  vanity  of 
peacocks,  267;  Kupicola  crocea, 
268 ;  display  of  plumage  by  va- 
rious birds,  269,  270;  musical 
monkeys  and  mice,  274:  bird 
song  out  of  pairing  season,  2S0; 
song  of  females,  280,  281. 

Darwin,  Francis,  Hylobates  leu- 
ciscus,  273. 

Decoration,  162,  327. 

Deer-hunting,  play,  128. 

Delaistre,  curiosity  of  weasels,  217, 

Descartes,  animals  as  automata,  26. 

Dessoir,  double  personality,  306, 
307  ;  Binet's  experiment,  313. 

Destructive  impulse,  91,  200,  220, 

Dickens,  on  ravens,  95,  202. 

Diezel,  love  plays  of  does,  257 ; 
army  snipes,  2S2. 

Dittman,  imitation  by  a  starling, 
201. 

Doe,  aesthetic  perception,  227  ; 
courtship,  257. 

Dogs,  tussling,  19,  141,  146,  148; 
play  with  lifeless  prey,  19,  132, 
165;  experimentation,  85,  91,  97; 
voice  practice,  97 ;  coasting,  115 ; 
movement  plays,  116;  play  with 
beetle,  123;  hunting  plays,  118; 
deception,  119,  301 ;  an  artistic 
dog,  165;  nursing  play,  170;  imi- 
tation, 181,  188,  191;  curiosity, 
215;  pairing  plays,  254;  court- 
ship, 257,  267  :  conscious  self-de- 
ception in  fighting  play,  300. 

Doll,  169. 

Dolphin, movement  play.  Ill ;  teas- 
ing, 138, 

Donkey,  movement  play,  113 ;  fight- 
ing play,  144. 

Double  personality,  313,  314. 

Dream,  relation  to  play,  309. 

Drongo  paradisier,  imitation,  200. 

Duckbill,  tussling,  142. 

Ducks,  learning  to  swim,  106  ;  mass 
plays,  211. 


336 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 


Duncker,  nursing  play  of  dogs,  170. 
Duvaucel,  climbing  of  apes,  118. 
Dyer,  on  inheritance   of   acquired 
characters,  56. 

Eagle,  260. 

Edmonson,  execution  by  crows,  209. 

Eimer,  on  instinct,  48  ;   Weisraann, 

51 ;    curiosity  of    cows,   217 ;    of 

lizards,  219. 
Elephant,  298. 
Ellendorf,  on  apes,  185. 
Encyclopaedia  Britannica,  27. 
Espinas,  courtship,  244. 
Execution  by  animals,  209. 
Experimentation,  76,  85,   180,  211, 

290,  328. 

Falcon,  261. 

Falkenstein,  on  the  gorilla,  87,  97, 

114, 180. 
Fawn,  128. 

Fere,  divided  consciousness,  309. 
Fighting  plays,  135. 
Finch,  280. 
Firefly,  100. 

Fischer,  on  the  mandril,  247. 
Fish,  100,  102,  219,  265. 
Fish  otter,  87. 

Fitch,  on  nursing  plays  of  cats,  173. 
Flight  of  birds,  105,  259,  266. 
Fltigel,  on  Wasmann,  29,  56. 
Flying  fish,  101. 
Forel,  on  ants,  56,  58,  139. 
Foveau  de  Courmelles,  on  instinct, 

47. 
Fox,  112,  123, 128. 
Franck,  199. 
Furnarius,  duet,  256. 

Galton,  on  inheritance  of  acquired 

characters,  55 ;  on  selection,  64. 
Gardener,  220. 
Gazelle,  113,  208,  217. 
Gellert,  27. 
Genius,  295,  317. 


Gesner,  play  of  cats,  132;  of  man- 
dril, 246 ;  vanity  of  the  peacock, 
267. 

Gibbon,  118,  274. 

Girtanner,  on  the  vulture,  96. 

Gnu,  138. 

Goat,  108,  128,  144,  208,  215. 

Goose,  106,  211,  226. 

Golden  pheasant,  269. 

Golden  plover,  26. 

Golden-crested  wren,  129,  270. 

Golz,  on  mocking  birds,  197. 

Gorilla,  87,  97,  119, 186. 

Gould,  on  the  bower  bird,  161. 

Grischow,  on  martens.  128. 

Gross,  303,  305,  311,  314. 

Grosse,  play  and  art,  292,  295. 

Gunzel,  the  magpie,  129,  226. 

Guts  Muths,  play  as  recreation,  15, 
16,  23. 

Haas,  on  antelopes,  128, 

Haast,  on  the  keanestor,  220. 

Habit.  46. 

Habitual  1, 118. 

Haeckel,  51. 

Hammerhead,  159. 

Hare,  96,  113. 

Hartmann,  on  instinct,  8,  30,  40,  66, 
70,  74 ;  unconscious  sexual  selec- 
tion, 240;  apparent  I,  304;  di- 
vided consciousness,  311,  314,  319. 

Hensel,  concert  of  howling  apes,  272. 

Hertwig,  on  Weismann,  51. 

His,  on  the  inheritance  of  acquired 
characters,  56. 

Hoffmann,  imitation  by  a  dog,  191. 

Hooded  raven,  147. 

Horse,  113,  125,  138. 

Howling  ape,  97,  211,  272,  276. 

Huber,  on  ants,  58, 130, 140. 

Hudson,  on  play,  10,  11,  238  ; 
on  sheep,  33  ;  the  parra  jacana, 
43:  the  chauna  chavarria,  108, 
211,219;  the  firefly,  160;  dance 
of    spur- winged    lapwing,    109; 


INDEX. 


plays  of  lions,  120,  129;  of  vis- 
cacha,  157 ;  of  lambs,  192 ;  of 
mocking  bird,  200;  of  weasels, 
207,  209 ;  of  various  birds,  212 ;  of 
cows,  209  ;  of  Rupicola  erocea,  225  ; 
on  sexual  selection,  231,  238,  246  ; 
duet  by  woodpeckers,  256 ;  on 
plumage  of  female  birds,  281. 

Huggins,  a  musical  dog,  189. 

Humboldt,  flying  flsh,  101 ;  play  of 
jaguar,  123 ;  of  toucan,  139  ;  vocal 
organs  of  howling  ape,  273. 

Hume  on  instinct,  40. 

Hunting  plays,  120. 

Hyena,  142. 

Hypnotism,  304. 

Hysteria,  304,  312. 

Ibis,  139,  211. 

Illusions,  124,  130,  299. 

Imitation,  8,  14,  72,  74,  273,  281  ;  by 
gregarious  animals,  76,  181 ;  in 
nest-building,  153;  in  art,  167, 
328;  constructive,  167,  180;  so- 
cial I,  207  ;  inner,  162. 

Imitative  play,  178,  223,  302. 

Inheritance  of  acquired  characters, 
45,  49,  54,  57,  71,  182,  227. 

Insect,  100,  130,  140,  220. 

Instinct,  13,  24,  47,  62,  67,  70,  152, 
161,  177,  243,  249,  289. 

Intelligence  of  animals.  26  ;  of  birds, 
251 ;  relation  to  instinct,  50,  69 ; 
advancement  through  play,  72; 
through  imitation,  74. 

Jacana,  212. 

Jackdaw,  148,  159. 

Jaguar,  123,  144. 

James,  play  as  instinct,  8, 43  ;  inher- 
itance of  acquired  characters,  56  ; 
instinct  and  intelligence,  69  ;  imi- 
tation, 78,  178,  207;  acquisitive- 
ness, 164;  curiosity,  214,  219;  at- 
tention, 124. 

Janet,  on  double  personality,  307, 
314. 


Jean  Paul,  surplus  energy,  2  ;  ex- 
perimentation, 85. 
Jeens,  imitation  in  a  dog,  191. 

Kant,  on  artificial  selection,  46 ; 
likeness  to  Weismann,  54 ;  natu- 
ral and  artistic  pleasure,  303; 
double  personality,  304 ;  influ- 
ence of  Schiller,  318;  on  free- 
dom, 322. 

Kastner,  on  parrots,  203,  227. 

Keanastor,  220. 

Keiraplasm,  53. 

Keller,  on  monkeys,  184;  on  the 
song  of  nightingales,  277. 

Kirchner,  on  instinct,  32;  intelli- 
gence of  birds,  252. 

Kite,  260. 

Kleptomania,  165. 

Krauss,  104. 

Kristan  von  Hamle,  on  parrots,  203. 

Kropotkine,  on  cats,  126. 

Kussmaul.  on  Keimarus,  38. 

Lamarckian  theory,  45,  46,  50,  57. 
Landmann,  on  double  personality, 

304. 
Lange,     conscious     self-deception, 

292,   300;    nature   and   art,   310; 

pendulum,  311  ;  illusion,  326. 
Lapwing,  109,  260,  264. 
Lazarus,  16,  20,  324. 
Lehmann,  288,  325. 
Leibnitz,  imitation  in  a  dog,  189. 
Lenz,  on  goats,  113;  martens,  122; 

foxes,  123  ;  rodents,  217  ;  cranes, 

262 ;  finches,  275. 
Leopard,  141. 
Leroy,  26,  50,  214,  298. 
Lessing,  88. 
Leutemann,  186. 
Levaillant,  297. 
Lewes,  48. 

Linden,  on  cockatoos,  95, 139. 
Lindsay,  on  the  water  rat,  158. 
Lion,  97, 141,  210. 


338 


THE   PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 


Loango  expedition,  Y8.    (See  Fal- 

KENSTEIN  andPECHUKL-LoESCHE.) 

Lockwood,  ou  singing  mice,  274. 
Lotze,  166. 
Lubboclc,  on  ants,  58. 

MacCook,  on  ants,  140. 

Madagascar  weaver  bird,  266. 

Magpie,  129,  159,  226,  255. 

Make-believe,  131, 145, 151,  294,  299. 

Mandril,  246. 

Mantegazza,  on  coquetry,  285. 

Marshall,  on  parrots,  203  ;  on  wood- 
peckers, 281. 

Marten,  111,  122,  128. 

Alass  plays,  206,  245. 

Matthew,  nursing  play  of  dogs,  171. 

Meier,  animal  psychology,  38. 

Metaphysics,  29. 

Meynert,  on  the  inheritance  of  ac- 
quired characters,  56,  60. 

Migratory  birds,  107. 

Mill,  James,  on  imitation,  295. 

Millendorf,  savage  dancing,  213, 
225. 

Mills,  Wesley,  animal  intelligence, 
42,  86. 

Mocking  bird,  197,  200,  259. 

Mole,  hypnotism,  312. 

Monkey,  92,  96,  134,  168,  185,  246. 

Morgan,  Lloyd,  on  instinct,  21,  47, 
64,  72,  86  ;  on  heredity,  56  ;  criti- 
cism of  James,  69 ;  on  swallow- 
ing instinct,  196 ;  curiosity  of  a 
cat,  215 ;  on  sexual  selection,  231. 

Mouse,  217,  274. 

Movement  plays,  99. 

Miiller,  A.  and  K.,  on  instinct,  40, 
70 ;  play,  8  ;  of  dogs,  96 ;  of  spar- 
rows, 104 ;  of  migratory  birds,  106 ; 
of  martens,  111;  of  wild  buck, 
113;  of  weasel,  123:  of  fox  and 
squirrel,  123;  of  cats,  130;  of 
badger,  142;  of  deer,  144;  on 
nest-building,  155;  by  wrens, 
156, 159 ;  by  bastard  nightingale, 


159 ;  by  raven,  202 ;  on  the  pair- 
ing of  birds,  245 ;  their  intelli- 
gence, 251 ;  love  plays  of  mar- 
tens, 257 ;  of  fish  otters,  257 ;  ot 
red  wagtails,  270 ;  of  the  bit- 
tern, 284  ;  of  squirrels  and  water 
shrews  and  deer,  284;  deception 
of  a  bird  dog,  297. 

Muller,  H.,  on  young  birds,  87, 103, 
106,  195. 

Music,  95,  189,  274. 

Naumann,  migration,  42;  plays  of 
various  birds,  108,  129,  142,  145, 
148,  151,  154,  196  ;  imitation,  199, 
202 ;  curiosity,  221,  251,  262-280  ; 
drumming  by  woodpeckers,  281 ; 
flapping  of  storks,  282 ;  roar  of 
the  bittern,  282. 

Neo-Darwinism,  50,  55. 

Neo-Lamarckism,  55. 

Nietzsche,  290. 

Night  falcon,  259. 

Night  heron,  150. 

Nightingale,  102,  221,  275. 

Noll,  100. 

Nordlinger,  on  the  weasel,  126. 

Nursing  plays,  172. 

Nuthatch,  145. 

Ocelot,  134,  142. 

Ocyphaps  lophotes,  270. 

Orange  bird,  270. 

Orang-outang,  93, 117, 174, 186. 

Oscilador,  258. 

Ostrich,  263. 

Owen,  on  a  musical  gibbon,  274. 

Panmixia,  59,  71. 
Panther,  86. 
Paradise  birds,  268,  281. 
Pardies,  musical  dog,  189. 
Parra  jacana,  43,  212. 
Parrot,  110, 169,  202,  220,  297. 
Partridge,  145. 
Paske,  on  ravens,  221. 


INDEX. 


339 


Peacock,  252,  269,  281. 

Pechuel-Locsche,  on  apes,  76,  92, 
119,  163,  -226 ;  on  a  ratn,  147. 

Pereira,  animals  as  automata,  26. 

Philostratus,  on  apes,  184. 

Pierquin  de  Gembloux,  a  musical 
dog,  189. 

Pietruvsky,  on  the  raven,  177.    , 

Plato,  79. 

Play  of  animals,  1,  8, 13,  23,  49,  72, 
287  ;  social,  74,  99,  178,  294,  325. 

Polar  bear,  87,  90, 142, 191. 

Pouchet,  69. 

Praxiteles,  265. 

Preyer,  instinct,  43,  48;  make-be- 
lieve, 79 ;  experimentation,  85, 
88 ;  cruelty,  135. 

Puma,  86,  125,  134, 141. 

Eaccoon,  90, 137,  143,  217. 

Raffles,  on  the  leopard,  122. 

Eat,  execution,  209. 

Eed  wagtail,  270. 

Eedstart,  129. 

Eeedbird,  256,  266. 

Eeimarus,  on  instinct,  25,  29,  38. 

Eengger,  on  monkeys,  97,  118, 137. 

Eey,  parrots,  95  :  sparrows,  221. 

Eibot,  on  instinct,  25,  48 ;  on  Weis- 
mann,  51 ;  attention,  214. 

Eivalry,  140,  184,  195. 

Eobin,  221. 

Eomanes,  G.  J.,  instinct,  27,  42,  47, 
52,  60,  71 ;  on  play  of  lishes,  101 ; 
of  dogs,  117;  of  various  birds, 
159;  a  crazed  pigeon,  163;  mon- 
key with  doll,  189 ;  bird-song, 
196,  200;  execution,  210;  curi- 
osity of  dogs,  216 ;  of  fish,  219 : 
of  insects,  220 ;  intelligence  of 
birds,  251 ;  the  bell  bird,  279. 

Eomanes,  Miss,  experiments  with 
apes,  92, 187. 

Eouth,  on  dogs,  191. 

Eupicola  crocea,  268. 

Euss,  speech  of  canaries,  197 ;  other 


birds,  198,  201,  203,  206;  love 
plays,  266  ;  deception  of  a  parrot, 
29y. 

Satin  bower  bird,  160. 

Savage,  on  chimpanzee,  96. 

Saville  Kent,  dolphins,  138. 

Scarlet  shrike,  278. 

Schaeflfer,  136. 

Schaller,  on  play,  15,  18. 

Scheitlin,  panther,  86;  elephant, 
91 ;  hares,  96 ;  cranes,  108 ;  kit- 
tens, 122;  chasing  play  of  horses, 
125,  138;  of  stork,  128;  of  Alpine 
cows,  144 ;  dogs,  187 ;  curiosity 
of  dogs,  216;  of  goats,  215;  of 
nightingales,  217  ;  of  siskins,  222 ; 
dancing  of  a  crane,  263 ;  cat  con- 
cert, 274. 

Schelling,  on  instinct,  30. 

Schiller,  surplus  energy,  1,  22,  234, 
287  ;  teleology,  45,  88 ;  play  of 
insects,  100;  art  and  play,  303; 
beauty,  317,  319;  freedom,  323. 

Schlegel,  on  the  leopard,  112. 

Schneider,  instinct,  14,  48,  56,  65; 
aim,  67  ;  imitation,  77  ;  attention, 
130. 

Schomburgk,  268. 

Schopenhauer,  225. 

Schu berth,  on  instinct,  30. 

Schweinfurth,  courtship  of  deer, 
257. 

Schwendt,  on  parrots,  204. 

Seals,  110,  128,  144,  208. 

Seiifertitz,  on  cranes,  262. 

Seitz,  play  of  antelopes,  7,  254; 
movement  plays,  113;  play  with 
prey,  122,  124. 

Selection,  45,  230,  244 ;  negative  I, 
eflfect  on  play,  76 ;  sexual,  230  ;  or- 
ganic, 64,  239,  Appendix. 

Self-deception,  conscious,  294,  301. 

Self-exhibition,  253,  327. 

Siebeck,  dreaming,  309. 

Sigismund,  experimentation,  85. 


340 


THE  PLAY  OF  ANIMALS. 


Singing  mouse,  274. 

Singing  thrush,  108. 

Siskin,  86, 110,  221,  260. 

Smitt,  orang-outang,  117. 

Snipe,  260,  270,  275,  281.' 

Sotheby,  on  talJiing  canaries,  198. 

Souriau,  play  as  instinct,  13 ;  as 
practice,  22  ;  movements  of  young 
animals,  288,  296 ;  pleasure  in 
activity,  290;  end  of  play,  289. 

Spalding,  instinct  in  chickens, 
swallows,  and  cats,  42;  sparrow, 
81, 104,  139,  221,  255. 

Speckter,  185. 

Speech,  197. 

Spencer,  play,  1,  5,  13,  21,  234,  287 ; 
survival  of  the  fittest,  45,  231 ;  in- 
heritance of  acquired  characters, 
51,  60 ;  on  instinct,  62,  66 ;  imita- 
tion, 78,  181, 206 ;  sexual  selection, 
231 ;  love  plays,  245, 280 ;  freedom, 
291. 

Spengel,  56. 

Spider,  265. 

Squirrel,  284. 

Starling,  145,  201. 

Steinen,  309. 

Steinthal,  15. 

Stiebeling,  107. 

Stork,  104,  128,  261,  282. 

Strange,  1 60. 

Strieker,  imitation,  78,  178. 

Suggestion,  213  ;  hypnotic,  304,312. 

Sully,  on  Schiller,  3 ;  Weismann, 
51 ;  imitation,  78 ;  causality,  290. 

Swammerdam,  water  snail,  39. 

Symmetry  of  coloring,  232,  235. 

Tape,  on  geese,  106. 

Tapir,  113. 

Tarde,  imitation,  207. 

Tennent,  curiosity,  219  ;  elephants, 

298. 
Tetrao  phasianellus,  264. 
Tetrao  umbellus,  151. 
Thistio  iiuch,  110,  272,  280. 


Thrush,  200,  277,  280. 
Tiger,  141. 
Titmouse,  110. 
Toucan,  139. 

Toussenel,  swallows,  177. 
Tschudi,  112,  215,  279,  280. 
Turkey  cock,  286. 
Tylor,  on  selection,  231. 

Van  Bemmelen,  on  inheritance  of 

acquired  characters,  56. 
Vanity,  248,  253. 
Virchow,  56. 
Viscacha.  157,  218. 
Vogt,  on  instinct,  35. 
Voice  practice,  97. 
Vosmaern,  93. 
Vulture,  96,  148,  220. 

Wallace,  on  instinct,  33,  56,  64 ;  on 
birds,  33,  72,  194 ;  selection,  232, 
238,  241  ;  love  plays,  235,  271. 

Wallaschek,  3;  imitation,  5,  12; 
selection,  231. 

Walter,  129. 

Waltz,  265. 

Ward,  55. 

Wasmann,  on  instinct,  29 ;  ants, 
58. 

Water  ouzel,  280. 

Water  rat,  258. 

Water  shrew,  284. 

Waterhouse,  274. 

Weasel,  103, 106.  218. 

Weaver  bird,  156. 

Wcinland,  43;  on  birds,  102,  193, 
195 ;  raccoon,  217. 

Weir,  on  birds,  153,  272. 

Weismann,  31,  71 ;  selection,  46, 
50,  230 ;  ants,  57 ;  birds,  272. 

Whistling  shrike,  278. 

Whitethroat,  108. 

Wied,  Prince  von,  278. 

Willow  wren,  151. 

Wilser,  48,  51. 

Wodzicky,  the  bittern,  282. 


INDEX. 


341 


Wolf,  126,  142,  190. 
Wood,  on  parrots,  169. 
Wood  lark,  259. 
Wren,  156,  280. 
Wulff,  171. 

Wundt,  7, 130;  instinct,  41,  48, 
71;    reflexes,  64;    imitation, 


178; 
305. 


52, 
77, 
focus    of     consciousness. 


Ypecaha,  mass  plays,  212. 

Ziegler,  H.  E.,  instinct,  61,  63  ;  he- 
redity, 60,  242. 

Ziegler,  Th.,  play,  10 ;  on  Wundt, 
ISO ;  freedom,  326. 

Ziehen,  heredity,  56 ;  instinct, 
66. 

Zola,  heredity,  265. 


THE  END. 


(98; 


